We're Three Caballeros
by Zeragii
Summary: When USM Border secret service agent, Panchito Pistoles, runs into some deadly trouble, it looks like it might be time to pull the Three Caballeros back together; officially.
1. Tactical Error

**Hello, my name's Zeragii. :)**

**I have been wanting to write some adventures of the Three Caballeros for some time now. I always thought it was a shame that the characters of Donald, Panchito, and Jose worked so well together, but where then never used much afterward. I've decided to give it a go. My stories may become a series, depending on how well they are received. Please let me know. Kind criticism is welcome and appreciated.**

**My story doesn't take place in any particular time, since I will be portraying it as the old west, but Donald obviously lives in modern times. But in cartoons, anything works. My stories may also have a very Wild Wild West-like feel to them (an old western TV show I love very much).**

**Alright, here goes. :)**

**I do not own the Characters of Panchito, Jose, or Donald; Disney does. I write only for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others.**

**...**

In a small seaside village in Mexico, the night sky was clear; shining with the gleam of a thousand stars. The heavens glowed with their brilliant light, casting points of hope, just as they had for countless years, guiding settlers across the great oceans to the undiscovered world of the Americas. But these points did not reach the small town tonight, for a thick, encumbering fog lay over it; blocking out all light. It was dark and desolate. The hour was late, and all of its population was fast asleep.

By the water, the seemingly endless trail of the boardwalk wound its way across the shore, lined with multiple buildings. All empty, since they were stores and workshops. No one was there at this time of night...

Almost no one.

BANG! BANG!

The bullets flew through the fog laden air; invisible, but audible in the dark night. They embedded themselves in the various shacks and rundown boat houses; splintering wood flying in all directions. Besides the echoing discharge of gunfire, the only other sound was the water lapping against the docks. The boardwalk appeared to be deserted, but looks could be deceiving. After all, guns didn't fire of their own accord.

Panchito Pistoles crouched behind an old crate. He pressed against it as much as he could, trying to make himself as small as possible as the shots rang out and fired over his head. The wooden box was wet from moisture and smelled of mildew, but, at the moment, it was the best cover the rooster could find. It was tough, since he didn't know from which direction the bullets were coming. He wasn't sure where his opponents stood, since he had lost sight of them shortly after the beginning of the fight.

He had been following the group of thugs for the last three hours, as were his orders. It hadn't been easy; they dodged and moved as if they suspected they were being followed. Now that was a certainty. When Panchito had followed them to the docks they had suddenly turned and started firing, forcing the red rooster to duck for cover. Panchito was pretty sure that there were five of them. Five against one...Not the best odds...but they were the kind of odds Panchito liked.

Shifting himself closer to the crate, the red rooster cautiously peeked over the top of his shelter and fired a single shot into the darkness. He had already fired several, with no result. This time he heard a yelp and smiled. He'd hit one, and that was a start. With all the swirling fog and dark night, it was impossible to see anything. Panchito was just glad the blindness worked both ways, and the thugs weren't able to get a clear shot at him either. The smile faded when a voice, filled with anger and pain, growled out from the dusk. It was deep, almost growling. Certain words ended with a sharp clicking sound, as though two knives were being hit together. Panchito knew that noise. It was the sound that was made by a sharp beak clacking shut. He had heard it before in other encounters with villains in the past. The sound brought to mind the razor- sharp mandible, causing the rooster to shudder.

"Surrender! And maybe we'll take it easy on you!"

Panchito shook his head, regardless of whether his adversaries could see the motion or not. He wasn't about to just give up. Granted, he was in a tough spot, but he'd been in tough spots before. Besides, Colonel Hawkins had assured him that backup would meet up with him after dark. They were a little late, but Panchito figured he could hold the criminals off until they arrived. He peered through the fog, trying to catch a glimpse of the speaker. "I am sorry, Señor," he called back, "but I still have a little fight left in me!" He fired another shot, but this time there was no yell. Panchito frowned. He had shot in the exact same direction as he had a moment ago; he was sure of it. The speaker must have moved.

"You are very foolish to decline our offer, Pequeño..." the voice warned. This time it was closer and slightly to the left.

The change in position surprised Panchito, and he swiftly turned his pistol in that direction. He stopped himself just in time from firing another bullet. He knew what they were up to. They were trying to get him to waste all his ammunition. That way they could rush him without fear of being killed.

Panchito wasn't even sure how many bullets he had used up already. There were advantages to having two pistols, as Panchito did, but they didn't make that much of a difference in the long run, especially for him. Sometimes the faulty illusion that he had an endless supply of bullets made its way into his mind, and he'd become a bit trigger happy. This would leave him with only one loaded gun before he had gotten a hold of himself. That had been the case tonight, and he mentally berated himself for it. The fiends probably knew it too.

"That may be so," Panchito said loudly, a fake smile pasted on his beak. "But at least I am not a criminal who will be spending the rest of my life in prison." It was, perhaps, an unwise comment, but Panchito couldn't help it. Sometimes, in all the excitement, he forgot how important it can be to hold one's tongue. It was a trademark characteristic of his. He waited for the customarily hateful reply...

But none came.

There was only silence up and down the length of the dark, waterside street. The only light was a few lanterns hanging outside the various shops. Crates and other cargo lined and piled all along the way, casting distrustful shadows. It was maddening, the way the fog made everything invisible. It even seemed to muffle any sound that there might have been. No footsteps; no breathing; nothing. Except his own.

Panchito gnawed his beak nervously as a nearly overwhelming sense of danger urged him to make a run for it. It was a feeling he wasn't familiar with. Normally he felt quite confident, but he suddenly felt that confidence start to fade. He wanted to back away; wait for help, but his pride wouldn't allow him to run. He was Panchito Romero Miguel Junipero Francisco Quintero Gonzalez III; Panchito never ran away from a fight. And he wasn't about to start now.

Panchito was just beginning to think of what to shout next when a soft sound behind him made him whirl around. The pistol was knocked from his stunned hand; he heard it hit the ground and go off, luckily, not shooting him as it did. Unfortunately, it didn't hit anyone else either.

Someone grabbed his arm and Panchito lurched forward, punching his attacker in the gut. The fiend, a small, scruffy looking vulture, gasped and released the rooster's wrist. Panchito scrambled back. Getting up from behind the crate, he made a dash for the ground hoping to reach his pistol, but another figure jumped out on him from the surrounding darkness. The assailant latched onto his back, knocking them both to the street, and began to try and choke him from behind.

Feeling his air suddenly cut off, the red rooster's movements became more desperate. When trying to pry the large, feathered hands from his throat failed, he tried another tactic. Bracing himself against his attacker, he pulled his arm forward, then back sharply, jabbing his elbow into the villain's lower chest. The hold on Panchito's neck loosened at once and the rooster was able to move up and away.

Panchito gasped in several lungfuls of fresh air just before he felt a tremendous kick to his back that sent him stumbling forward. It hurt terribly; sending tendrils of pain up his body. He was roughly caught by yet another thug, another vulture, who gripped him so he couldn't get away. A moment later, the other, probably the one who had kicked him, joined in. Panchito found himself trapped between the two, both arms held so tightly he could barely move, never mind escape. The two vultures he had incapacitated rejoined the group, making a full count of four. Panchito struggled and kicked, to no avail.

Yep, four against one. Panchito liked those odds...but only when he won. But wasn't there supposed to be five?

Out of the fog the fifth figure appeared. Dark and menacing, he towered over Panchito, seeming to grow bigger with each gliding step. The sound of claws against the boardwalk was audible, and the beak was curved and sharp, just as the rooster had imagined. Panchito stopped struggling and glared up at what he assumed was one of the largest vultures he had ever seen.

"Not much fight left in you now, is there?" the monster hissed. His scissor-like beak clacked dangerously as he looked down at his captive. He seemed to be pleased with the smaller birds immobility; smiling in a way that made the rooster uncomfortable. But he wasn't about to let his captor know that.

"I am just catching my breath, Señor," Panchito growled. He added another few tugs at the restraining hands to prove his point. "Then I shall put you in prison, where villains like you belo- AH!" The red rooster tried to squirm away from the sharp claws that snapped forward and grabbed his jacket. The talons had snatched more than just cloth, however, and a stinging pierced his chest feathers and reached down to the skin underneath. It dug in; not deeply, but definitely enough to draw a little blood. The force pressed him up against the brick wall of the nearest shack.

The enormous bird sneered at the pain he saw in Panchito's eyes and pushed a little harder, causing Panchito to moan. "You're not putting me anywhere, Pequeño." He gave one final jab before letting go, watching in satisfaction as the smaller bird gasped as the claws were retracted.

Panchito wanted nothing more than to rub the stinging sensation from his chest, but couldn't. Both his arms were still held firmly by the two vulture lackeys. So all he could do was glare up at his smug captor with as much dignity as he could muster. He noticed a fresh wound on the monster's shoulder. It was still bleeding, though not badly. So it was the leader Panchito had shot in the dark. _Great_.

"You know," the bird hissed evilly, voice calm, almost careless. "You've become quite the legend among us 'villains', as you call us." He chuckled. The sound was harsh. "The great USM Border secret service agent, Panchito Pistoles." He leaned down to his prisoner's level and Panchito had to try hard not to gag at his foul breath. "You don't seem so _great_ to me."

"Yeah, well, it's been an off day, Señor." Panchito blanched at his own boldness, half expecting a clawed slap across the face. But, again, nothing came.

The vulture-like monstrosity smiled wickedly. "How fortunate for me." He finally backed away. "You've been a thorn in many a criminal's side. They say you are clever and hard to get a hold of..." Another sickening grin. "And here I am, standing with the ability to snatch your pathetic little life away whenever I please." He flexed his talons with a smirk as Panchito stiffened. "I hear it's rather painful to be ripped to shreds. Perhaps we could perform a little...experiment. See if it's true."

Panchito leaned as far away as he could from the razor sharp claws that rested only a few inches from his face. His breathing quickened and his heart felt as though it might pound right out of his chest. He was certain everyone present could hear it. Forget dignity, he was going to die! He clenched his eyes shut tight and backed against the wall behind him as much as he could as the talons moved closer, resting their needle-like tips against the base of his neck. Any moment now he expected the agony of being torn apart to begin.

The evil bird watched in cruel amusement as his captive trembled in anticipation of his gruesome death. He could feel the wild heartbeat and hear the ragged breaths. It was music to his ears. It would be so easy to take care of the agent right here and now. Snuff out his life like the flame of a candle. But the villain had other plans.

"It almost seems a shame that I should win so easily," he clacked, pressing just a tad bit harder. "What's the point of killing an adversary I hardly know?" He signaled his lackeys, and the birds released the rooster's arms. Panchito stayed where he was, claws still holding him backed up to the cold, brick wall. The only movement he made was slowly shifting his arms to his sides. He opened his eyes, but they were still full of uncertainty.

The creature laughed; a deep, cruel cackle. "Yes, it would be a shame. Tell you what; I'll let you live this time. That way you and I can become...more acquainted. Before I kill you. Play a little cat and mouse, eh? I enjoy a good challenge." His voice hardened. "Yes. Yes, that's what we'll do. Until next we meet, Pequeño."

Panchito cried out as his captor suddenly reached out and grabbed him. With tremendous strength the monster took him and slammed him against the brick edifice. There was an explosion of stars in the rooster's head as he felt himself collapse to the boardwalk. The last thing he heard before consciousness left him was an evil, echoing cackle...then darkness.

**...**

**Alright, there it is the first chapter. :) Please review and let me know what you think and whether you would like me to continue. Thank you! :)**


	2. Last Chance

"What am I going to do with you?"

Panchito didn't answer the question. It wasn't that he hadn't heard. No, far from it. It was just he had heard the same thing so _many_ times. He knew that the question didn't need an answer. It was spoken more to make a point; a point that had been made countless times before. So Panchito _decided_ not to answer.

Instead, he focused on holding the pack of ice to his throbbing head. He was very sore, but that was understandable; and it wasn't just his head. His back felt as though it had a visible footprint lodged between his shoulder blades, where one of his foes had kicked him. He had scratches, scrapes, and bruises all over his body from where he had landed hard on the boardwalk. Then, of course, there was his chest, which still stung with a fiery itch; a reminder of those terribly, sharp claws.

He tried not to move too much, as it caused the pain to flare up again. He preferred the dull ache to the screaming burn of his injuries. So, to hide his discomfort, he sat as still as he could in the comfortable chair in the well furnished office; the office of his employer and friend, Colonel Hawkins. It wasn't a big room, but it certainly made up for that in appearance. The floor was carpeted with a thick, brown and gold rug that stretched from one corner of the room to the other. Not one board of flooring showed; a rather uncommon feature for a place of work. But Hawkins could afford it. The walls were painted a pale yellow, which caught the sunlight streaming in through the curtained window and reflected it all around. Framed pictures decorated here and there; mostly paintings of long-dead predecessors of the Colonel, or portraits of vain dignitaries who had sent them as gifts.

On one wall, to Panchito's right, was an elegantly crafted fireplace. The detail panel and legs were delicately carved marble, with figures of ferns and oak leaves depicting a scene of early autumn. The hearth was made of thin slabs of the same marble, laying level with the carpet. It had a high mantel, on which was placed all manner of fine chinaware, mostly of Mexican design. The intricate and colorful patterns of the pottery looked out of place in the distinctly American-looking setting. Of course, the same could be said for the only two persons in the room. While Panchito stood out, with his red attire and sombrero, Colonel Hawkins, an American through and through, fit right in; almost blending into the background. Like the mahogany desk...

The same mahogany desk from which the Colonel was glaring over at him. The tall, ageing hawk had a gaze that Panchito was sure could freeze the Gulf of Mexico solid in August. During a heat wave.

Hawkins sighed. He could see the distracted gaze in Panchito's eyes. The way he seemed to not hear his inquiry. Jason Hawkins had known the young rooster for many years now; since Panchito was just a small boy. Spending all that time with him had taught the Colonel one thing, and that was that Panchito liked to go by his own rules. An unfortunate characteristic, especially for Hawkins, who struggled to keep fellow under control. "Agent Quintero González, look at me when I am speaking to you."

The use of his real last name, as well as the way he had been addressed like a child, got Panchito's attention, and he looked up sharply.

"This can't keep happening," the Colonel continued. "This is your sixth accident, and frankly...well, I'm worried." He saw a look of annoyance cross his friend's face. Hawkins tried not to take it personally. He knew Panchito didn't mean any disrespect to him. Not directly, anyway. Panchito just didn't seem to understand the importance of authority. Which wasn't a good view when you were a USM Border agent; who was supposed to represent authority on the United States/Mexican border. He needed to know how to take orders, not just give them.

Panchito leaned forward, almost wincing as the motion pulled on his chest. "But, Señor Hawkins, that is what I am paid to do, no? Take the risks to ensure the safety of others?"

"Yes," Hawkins said in frustration, "But that's not what you're doing! You keep taking _unnecessary_ risks." He gestured to the rooster's bandaged head and chest. To him it was obvious. His friend's carelessness was a hazard. Why couldn't Panchito see it?

"Like what, Señor?"

"Like last night! Why didn't you wait for backup? You knew they were coming! All you had to do was keep tabs on the enemies whereabouts!''

"They would have gotten away!" Panchito defended quickly. He thought over the events of the night before. Sure he could have waited; played it safe, but that would have given the enemy the upper hand. Panchito absently raised a hand to his head. _Not that they hadn't already had it._

Hawkins snorted. "And so you decide to take on five vultures alone?!" He always dreaded hearing reports of when any of his agents were injured, but Panchito in particular. Mostly because the rooster's wounds were always caused by accidents and incidents that could have been prevented. Like two months ago when he had jumped that runaway stagecoach. Sure he had saved both the passengers and the driver; but if he had paused to think, Hawkins was positive he could have come up with a safer way of stop the coach without spraining his leg. Then there was that time he had charged into a room filled with armed gunmen and a single hostage. Sure he surprised the villains so badly he was able to get the drop on their leader, but that same surprise made one of the foes fire a pistol by accident; hitting Panchito in the side. Then there was last night. Panchito always rushed in without thinking. It was his greatest characteristic, but also his greatest fault. "You were almost killed!"

Panchito fell silent and averted his eyes. He didn't want to admit it, but the Colonel was right. Last night had been a little too close for comfort. Shortly after being knocked unconscious, Panchito had been found by the backup agents Hawkins had sent. They said he hadn't been injured too badly; besides a blow to the head and some puncture marks on his chest. All trace of that monster of a bird and his four secuaces* was gone by then. They had flown the coop, so to speak. In truth, the only success Panchito had had on this mission was in succeeding in getting himself in trouble once again.

"I just don't know what to do with you," the Colonel repeated, throwing his hands in the air. He pushed himself up from his own chair behind the desk and went to stand by the window. He looked out at the training grounds of the USM Border Headquarters. It was a busy place. Dust was constantly kicked up in the courtyard, where agents came and went through the guarded gates. Hawkins knew this place; had spent most of his life here. Starting as an agent himself, he worked up through the ranks until, finally, he reached his current position. He had always hoped that becoming a Colonel would bring instant ease to his life. He had been wrong. In fact, he found sending men to their possible death was worse than going himself. And it was agents like Panchito, who he truly cared about, who made it even harder. "You're one of the best agents we have. When something goes wrong there's no one else I'd rather send than you...But you're reckless. It's a danger, to yourself and others."

"That's why I work better alone, Señor."

"Exactly! And working alone is what's going to kill you!" Again the Colonel sighed, making his way over to stand by his desk. He gave the young rooster sitting before him a hard look. "I've tried to match you up with a suitable partner, like our policy demands-"

"And it almost worked," Panchito offered weakly. He was trying to smooth this whole thing over as best he could, but, as usual, his attempts only helped in making things worse.

"Almost worked?!" The Colonel cried, "Panchito, Agent Smith is just starting to regain his ability to walk, and Agent Martéla is still recovering from brain trauma!"

Panchito winced.

"You don't stop to think about the safety of yourself or those under your command," Hawkins continued. "That's why they get hurt. That's why _you_ get hurt. There's a reason we assign agents in pairs; to watch each other's backs. When one has a failing the other is supposed to pick up the slack. One of these days something's going to happen, and you're going to wish you had that support." He ran a hand over his face. The next words physically hurt him to say. "I'm seriously beginning to wonder if you even belong in the field."

Panchito's eyes widened. "Señor!"

"Well, what else can I do?! I can't keep dealing with this! You put more of our own men out of commission than you do bandits and thugs!" That might have been an exaggeration, but he was trying to make a point. Panchito really _was_ an excellent agent. But he didn't obey the rules. And friend of the Colonel's or not, the rooster could only take it so far before the higher ups began to ask questions. After all, a desk piled with reports on agents injured by 'accident' was bound to raise an eyebrow somewhere in the upper ranks. General Almaraz had already written two letters asking for an explaination, and Hawkins was running out of things to tell him.

"Please, Colonel," Panchito pleaded. He got up off his seat and placed both hands on the mahogany desk, forgetting all about the pain in his head and chest. "There is nothing else I can do; no place to go! It is all I have ever known; you understand that better than anyone else! Please, Señor, this is my life!"

"Than I suggest you get your 'life' under control," Hawkins stated coldly. On the inside it pained him to see his friend so upset. But this was the only option left. He needed to lay down the law; draw the line. If Panchito crossed it...well, Hawkins just hoped it wouldn't come to that. He'd hate to be down another agent...and a friend.

"...Sí, Señor," was all Panchito said. His eyes were focused on the carpeted floor, and he had stood up straight, like most agents would have done in Hawkins presence. He knew he was is serious trouble now. He knew he had pushed it too far. Not that he had been able to help it. It was just how he was. Who he was.

"I want you to get a partner," the Colonel continued. "Since the ones I've chosen for you in the past have all been hospitalized, I assume my taste in agents doesn't match your...exciting life style. Therefore, I give you a week to find a partner that suits you. Maybe if it's someone you know, you'll be more careful. This isn't exactly regulation, so I want you to keep this quiet." His hard gaze softened and he smiled sadly, coming forward and laying a gentle hand on the red rooster's shoulder. "This is the last chance I can give you, Pachito. Please, try to make it work."

Panchito felt uncomfortable under the Colonel's fatherly touch and gaze. No amount of friendly words or gestures could sugar coat the fact that he had just been severely reprimanded. He was certain about the Colonel's warning though; this _was_ his last chance. And if he wanted to continue his life in the secret service; the life he loved, he needed to get things under control. If part of that was getting some slow, wet-behind-the-ears partner, well then, so be it. He closed his eyes and gave a nod. "I won't disappoint you, Señor."

Hawkins' smile faltered slightly as he slowly removed his hand. "I hope not."

**...**

***Secuaces = ****henchmen**

**Alright, here's another chapter. Might be a little slow in the beginning (setting up the story takes some work, you know). And don't worry; Donald and Jose will make an appearance pretty soon. :)**

**Please, don't forget to review. It encourages me and lets me know I'm not writing this for only myself. :)**


	3. Color in a Sea of Gray

Panchito stormed out of the office. He wasn't necessarily angry, at least, not with Colonel Hawkins. Maybe he was mad at himself. He never meant to cause trouble; never meant to mess things up. He just didn't think before he acted. He couldn't help that; it was who he was. Sure it caused problems here and there, but it also helped him. Sometimes when you over think something, it gives fear a chance to creep in. Panchito was known throughout the agency for his courage. If he stopped to think, he was afraid his mind would find a reason to be scared. That he'd freeze up. Then what good would he be?

It was true that he got hurt a lot. Never anything nearly as bad as his gallery of short-term partners. There was Andrews, who had suffered a concussion. Carlos, who Panchito had accidentally run over with his horse. Evingston, still recovering from a broken leg; Rodriguez, currently on vacation after a 'mysterious' mental breakdown; and of course there was Smith and Martéla. The list was long but, thankfully, held no reports of death. Panchito was feeling guilty enough as it was. If he was ever responsible for someone else losing their life because of one of his 'accidents', Panchito didn't know what he'd do.

That was why he knew that Hawkins was right. Because, deep down, Panchito knew that it was all his fault. Whether he meant to or not, he was causing a big problem. His reckless nature needed to be watched. He needed to have someone there to remind him to slow down; be careful. And Hawkins just couldn't do that any more.

By the time Panchito had made it out of the Officer's building and out into the courtyard, his temper had decreased significantly. He took a deep breath of the warm, humid Mexico air. It calmed him further, and his mind began to slow its angry loop of negative thoughts. His chest hurt from the action, and the raising sun glared into his eyes, making his head pound painfully.

Whoever that mal compañero* from last night had been, Panchito sincerely hoped they didn't meet up again any time soon. It took a lot to scare Panchito, but he had truly been terrified out of his wits. That big vulture hadn't been some cheesy, run-of-the-mill crook. He had wanted to kill Panchito. Perhaps even more frightening was the fact that he _could_ have killed him. Very easily. That unnerved the rooster, and made him feel the painful wounds from the confrontation renewed with an ice-like fire.

The doctor had suggested that the red rooster take it easy, in case he'd gotten a concussion from his brutal rendezvous with the brick wall. The advice was sound, though given with almost uncaring conviction. All the doctors at the fort knew Panchito well enough to know that the agent wouldn't take their orders seriously. That, within the hour, the rooster would be back out in the field, fist-fighting with death and shooting up a storm as though there wasn't a thing wrong with him. It was something the medical staff had come to accept. All they did these days was shout a warning over their shoulders as he left the infirmary. More of a tradition than an actual suggestion.

Now, as the rooster settled himself onto a bench in the shade of a nearby building, he couldn't help but imagine the doctor's look of shock this action would have provoked. Him, Panchito Pistoles, actually obeying doctor's orders and taking it easy! Dr. Johnson probably would have declared himself insane and quit medicine just at the thought of it!

But Panchito wasn't doing it for their sake. He wasn't doing it for his. In fact, he wasn't even resting for any reason even remotely related to his injuries. The reason was simply because he needed to think. He needed to assess the situation. Sit back and try and get his jumbled thoughts in order again. He sat stiff and erect on the worn, wooden bench, letting his eyes wander over his 'home'.

Fort Cawford wasn't all that unlike any other fort Panchito had ever seen. It was a hard, sandy colored, box-shaped cluster of walls and buildings out in the heated highlands of Mexico. The four, parapeted walls almost seemed to blend in with the dust of the bare courtyard. Or nearly bare. There was a well in one corner, supplying cool, life-giving water to all who needed it. Besides that there was little else. A few horizontal posts to which agents could tie their horses, and a wagon being loaded for a mission; that was it.

Of course, the fort was far from deserted. Agents and soldiers hurried from one end of the bustling headquarters to the other. Some where just young privates or beginner agents, fresh from the academy, mixed with a healthy number of older, more experienced men and women. They worked as a team; a smooth-working machine that struggled to keep peace in a world that did everything in its power to do otherwise.

Panchito shook his head with a chuckle. Yes, Fort Cawford looked like any other fort he had ever seen...but with one difference. While most forts were either Mexican or American, Cawford was both. An oddity all in and of itself. Not that the two nations didn't team up on occasion, but for the USM Border secret service agency it wasn't an occasional partnership. They worked together as one as a rule; as a contract. As a loyal group of men and women who did there best in any and every situation.

It was their job to keep peace on the United States/Mexican border. Both nations had found it increasingly frustrating when, while chasing a convicted criminal, the villain would cross the border, thereby escaping that nation's lawful jurisdiction. And so, the USM Border agency was born; in an attempt to find a common ground that would benefit them both. A USMB agent had authority in both countries, making it much easier to track a criminal simply by permitting the law to follow suit. It worked pretty good too, and was a very well-kept secret. So secret in fact, that you probably have never even heard of it.

The agency was a secret service, often working undercover when either government was in dire need of assistance. Quite regularly they were called to places beyond the border, as Panchito had the night before. Wherever they were needed they were sent. It was their duty and, for many, their life.

Panchito had lived that life ever since he had been old enough to fire a pistol. His father, Agent Quintero, for whom Panchito was partially named, had lived and died in the service. And ever since then, his son had been determined to make his mark in the same profession. He had trained and practiced and pushed himself, until finally he was accepted. It helped that Hawkins, a close friend of his late father's, had supported him in his goal. Or he had...until now.

But that wasn't the Colonel's fault; it was Panchito's. It was his fault for betraying his friend's belief in his abilities as an agent. And with all his heart Panchito wanted to fix it. That same, mind numbing panic that he had felt in Hawkins' office tried to take hold again, but he fought it down with a few calming breaths. He may be able to do this, if he tried hard enough. Anything was worth staying in the secret service. _Anything_...Even getting a partner.

Panchito sighed dejectedly. He let his eyes roam over the courtyard again, this time taking in the people rather than the surroundings. They were an odd looking crew, to be sure. A teaming group of Mexican guías* and American rangers. Every one of them fast, quick-thinking, smart, and brave right down to their core. They were the type of folks you'd want on your side. They could be trusted; the fate of many lives lay in their hands daily.

But none of them could keep up with Panchito Pistoles. Not even one. The red rooster was just so...unpredictable. One minute he was here; the next he was there. First he was hiding; making a plan, then he was charging into the fray, that plan completely forgotten. No, many had tried, but they just couldn't handle...How had Hawkins put it?...Couldn't handle his "exciting life style". And that was putting it mildly, Panchito knew.

He knew none of these agents would work, even if he could find one willing to take the risk of an early retirement. He was just...too dangerous. The rooster's mind sank further into depression as that notion floated darkly in his thoughts. He wasn't only _taking_ risks, he _was_ a risk.

Panchito sighed again, looking down at the pale, red dirt beneath his feet. This situation was getting more and more hopeless by the minute. He wouldn't find a partner here; not among these rule-keeping, regulation-quoting gente*. The young rooster was slowly coming to the conclusion that he was doomed. There was no way he could find a suitable partner in a single week. Not in a year. Not in a hundred years!

His life as a USM Border agent began to play in his mind's eye. It was a parade of thrilling adventures, daring rescues, and exciting climaxes that always ended with the villains captured and defeated...but they were always the same. Each mission was much like any other. Oh, sure they were _different_, in the sense that they happened in _different_ places at _different_ times with _different_ villains. But, looking back, they all seemed to blend together. Like a pile of black and white photographs discarded on a table, there was nothing to distinguish one from the rest. It was all just a single blotch of gray. Maybe Hawkins was right...Maybe he didn't belong in th- What was that?!

In the seemingly endless procession of his life there had suddenly been a flash of color amongst the gray. Vibrant shades of yellow, red, blue, and green had shown through so unexpectedly, that it was almost a shock. Panchito's mind raced to collect the memory; pluck it from the dark pit that his depressed mind had become. He had to dig around for a moment or two, but he found it.

It was an older memory...One he hadn't brought to the surface for quite some time...The memory of...of a trip...Three years ago...Not a mission, a social related trip...To a friend. A friend in...America. A birthday party. He had gone to visit. There was music, dancing, singing...storytelling. Friends. Amigos. Three together...

Panchito's face suddenly brightened. Donald Duck's birthday! How could he have forgotten it! He had never had that much fun in his life, nor since then. He had gone and they had danced and sang! Oh, he could still remember the sounds of drums, maracas and many other instrumentos*! He had met José Carioca that day. Together they had become the Three Caballeros...at least for a short time; the duration of Donald's party. It was the only time that Panchito had worked with others as a team that didn't end in disaster. In fact, th-

Panchito's thoughts came to a grinding halt. It was a revelation worth a dramatic score. It could work! It had to work! Suddenly the depression the rooster had felt only moments before dissipated; obliterated by a glaring beam of hope. He had a whole week to go find them; convince them. The thought filled him with energy he hadn't had all day. It powered him as his quick mind snapped back to full working order. He had been dismissed from his duties. He could make it back in time.

With a new determination, Panchito got up quickly and headed for his horse, tied up on the other side of the fort. Before the dust had settled, he was gone; out the gate; a mere speck on the horizon. He traveled for the city where he would be able to catch a train. He'd take a plane if he had to.

It was time to get the Three Caballeros back together.

**...**

***Gu****ías = Guides**

***G****ente = People**

***I****nstrumentos = Instruments**

***Mal compañero = Bad Fellow**

**There we go, another chapter. Like I said in the last chapter's note, I know it might be a little slow at first, but I'm literally writing this from scratch. I had a lot to explain about the USM Border agency, and I figured it be better to talk about it early on so it wouldn't interfere with the story later. :) Donald will be introduced in the next chapter!**


	4. Scrubbed Out Dreams

Joining the U.S Navy had always been a dream of Donald's. When he was little he'd read about it, pretending to weather the high-raising waves of a tropical storm; earning metals for his bravery. As he grew older he built models and even bought a few small vessels, like rowboats and motorboats. But these hobbies only fed his love for seafaring adventure. He dreamed of the Navy with its big battleships; sailors working together as a well-oiled machine. He dreamed of proving himself to his family; his nephews, his Uncle Scrooge, and especially his girlfriend Daisy. He had always wanted to show his worth; make them all proud of him. That had been his dream...

But that dream had gone sour. Sure, he was in the Navy now. Sure, he was stationed aboard one of the biggest aircraft carriers he could ever have imagined. Sure, he was finally one of those lucky, snazzily-dressed sailors...But the one word that could describe his life at the moment was: disappointment. Disappointment in the Navy, disappointment in his dream, and disappointment in himself. From the moment he had come aboard, Donald had had one clumsy accident after another, instantly gaining the scornful eye of Admiral Grimitz, his commander. Most times his 'accidents' resulted in Grimitz getting hurt, or humiliated...or thrown overboard. That had sealed Donald's fate. Instead of being assigned a station below deck, where all the cool gadgets and doohickeys were; where the real heroes worked to fire torpedoes at enemy ships and navigated the waves of the churning ocean; Donald was part of the cleaning crew. In fact, he seemed the only one_ on_ the cleaning crew.

He scrubbed the decks, helped in the galley, cleaned out different machinery, and sometimes even worked on the ship's plumbing. Basically, any job that nobody else wanted to do, he did. He was low enough in rank that, at times, it felt like the newest recruits had the power to boss him around. And so he scrubbed, and cleaned, and cooked, and served...And whenever he made a mistake, which was often, he was assigned even more chores to do. He was so deep in them at this point that he'd probably never do anything else but that for the rest of his military enlistment. Clean and scrub. That was what his dream had been reduced to. Clan and scrub.

The many grueling hours of working alone gave Donald more then enough time to brood and think. Which meant he also had a lot of time to miss his family. For the other sailors, whose lives were kept busy with important orders, they had little time to think of their homesickness. But pealing potatoes in a deserted galley, or washing the ship's hull, suspended on a wooden plank far from anyone else, Donald's mind tended to wonder. The only way he could handle all this disappointment was think of better times. Which, ironically enough, depressed him further.

He missed Huey Dewey and Louie. He missed the way they always spoke like they could read each other's minds. He missed the sound of their voices, and the flashes in his peripheral vision of red, green, and blue. He even missed the mischief they always caused. He'd take a family crisis any day! Next to these boring hours of useless labor, it sounded almost as inviting as a trip to a theme park. Donald just hoped they were doing alright with his Uncle Scrooge. He hoped they weren't causing too much trouble. But that thought made Donald chuckle. Scrooge needed something to worry about besides his precious money bin. And if anything could worry anybody, it was Huey, Dewey, and Louie.

That wasn't the only thing he missed. He missed the adventures. The fixes he and his nephews got themselves into. It had kept Donald on his toes. Each day had been different; not this bland routine he was trapped in. It was sucking the life out of him; or so it seemed. Each day was exactly like the last. They passed by slowly, so that days felt like weeks and weeks felt like months. And worst of all: no adventures. Oh, it was true that their ship was called in for active duty every now and then, but even then it was the airplane pilots who saw most of the action. Donald was stationed on an aircraft carrier after all. He would here the pilots tell of their adventures as he worked. Of how they had faced the enemy, and fought bravely, and Donald's heart would sink. _They_ had adventures. _They_ were the heroes. And what was he? Seaman Duck, who sent letters to his family every week; letters packed with false accounts of his brave deeds. All Donald wanted was for the others to be proud of him. And he couldn't bring himself to tell the truth. Because, let's face it...Who wants to hear the adventures of scraping barnacles or pealing a potato?

No one.

He was the go-for. 'Go for this' and 'go for that'. He was a joke; the sailor no one ever wanted to have anything to do with whatsoever. He was a walking disaster. A failure. A stooge...And he knew it. He was so out of the loop, he didn't even know why they were headed for the coast. He didn't even know what coast! All he knew was that they had received special orders to dock and with some sort of visitor. Someone important, Donald guessed. Not that he cared. He wouldn't get to see the guy...or girl. He'd be stuck cleaning somewhere. He wouldn't be meeting anyone, important or no.

But Donald was about to get the surprise of his life. About an hour later, they docked in a port that looked to Donald an awful lot like Mexico. He had seen it before; though, not in person. It had been about three years ago. On his birthday. He and-

"Seaman Duck, report to the my office immediately." It was Admiral Grimitz. Donald's heart sank even more. He was probably being called for kitchen duty. Doubtless, a good meal was in need of being made for their visitor, and he, as usual, was being volunteered for the job. _Great_.

Donald threw the sponge he had been using to scrub the deck with back into the bucket of soapy water. It splashed him, covering the white duck in suds. But Donald didn't care. If he looked a mess at least he looked like he was working. If the Admiral had a problem with it, that was just too bad. Donald was getting more and more frustrated. Which meant his renowned temper was nearing the boiling point. In fact, today might be the day he would finally blow his stack. Grimitz had been pushing him, and pushing him hard. All it would take now to cue an explosion was one more, little, teeny, tiny push. Insubordination wasn't Donald's goal...but once he lost control, he knew nothing would be able to stop him.

Wiping his slippery hands on his already soaking wet uniform, Donald headed in the direction of Admiral Grimitz's office. He passed many other sailors on the way. They were all doing various tasks; some were drilling, others carrying out important details, and some were securing the airplanes that dotted the large craft's deck. But, as diverse as their work may be, they all had one thing in common. They were _real_ sailors. They were _really_ in the Navy. Donald blushed and quickened his pace as stern, teasing eyes turned on him as he walked by. Sometimes he'd hear snickers, of muttered insults; commenting on his laziness or uselessness. His clumsiness. His non-sailor-like status. It embarrassed Donald, and made his temper rise further.

By the time he reached Grimitz's closed office door Donald was just about mad enough to kick it down. He thought better of it and instead grabbed the doorknob rather fiercely. He jerked it open and stepped inside, without knocking; fully prepared to let his pent-up emotions fly in the face of his superior officer. He was ready to face whatever Grimitz had to say. He was ready to face whatever punishment his outburst would result in...But what he wasn't ready to face, was what he found in his Admiral's office.

"Donald! Mi amigo!*"

The shock was almost enough to send the stunned duck stumbling backwards right through the door through which he had just entered. Of all the things he had expected to see; of all the people he expected to find, Panchito Pistoles was _not_ one of them. The red rooster was standing just inside the door. In fact, Donald wondered vaguely whether he had almost hit his friend when he had thrown the door open. Panchito looked completely out of place in the gray surroundings of the aircraft carrier. He stood out vibrently, a flash of color in the world of cold, dark, colorless metal. The red of his clothing and feathers smacking Donald visually. It was like Donald had been totally colorblind his whole life, and then suddenly could see all the shades of the rainbow right in from of him all at once.

Panchito noted Donald's shocked expression, and chuckled. "Por amor de Dios*, Donald! Are you alright?" He stepped forward, waving a hand in front of his friend's face rapidly several times.

Slowly, Donald blinked, finally letting it all sink in. He took a step, a smile starting to spread across his billed face. "...Yeah...Yeah." The realization finally came through, and Donald launched forward, embracing the rooster in a tight hug, regardless of his sud-covered uniform. The shock was gone. "Panchito! It's so good to see you!" He patted his friend's back enthusiastically. "Well, I'll be doggone! What are you doing here?!" He continued patting and hugging, and Panchito returned the gesture, ignoring the water and soap his friend was getting on him.

"That's what I'd like to know," Admiral Grimitz grumbled from his seat behind his desk. He was watching the exchange with not so much as a hint of interest. He just wanted to get this whole thing over with so Seaman Duck would leave. Whenever Donald was around, disaster was bound to follow.

Donald quickly detached himself from his friend, having forgotten that the Admiral was present, and stood at stiff attention, like he was supposed to. Panchito gave the duck an amused smile - he _would_ find it funny - before turning back to Grimitz.

Pulling out a badge and a few legal-looking papers, Panchito leaned nonchalantly against the desk and handed them to Grimitz as he explained. "I am an agent of both your government and Mexico's government. My name, as you can see on my documents, is Panchito Romero Miguel Junipero Francisco Quintero González." He paused a moment to take a breath before adding, "The third."

Admiral Grimitz's eyes widened at the long title, but then narrowed as he raised them back to the agent. He seemed suspicious as to the authenticity of the whole matter. "These papers seem to be in order" he commented grudgingly. "What is it you want?"

"I have come to request the transfer of Seaman Donald Duck."

"DUCK?!" Grimitz shouted in surprise. Outside his office a number of passing crewmen hit the deck, thinking they were being told to take cover.

"Sí, Señor," Panchito confirmed, turning to an equally stunned Donald. "That is, if there are no objections," he added. He gave his friend a encouraging grin.

Donald didn't know what to think. He had never known that Panchito was a government agent. He had always thought that the rooster served as a sheriff or something in some remote village in Mexico somewhere. But a _government agent_! And now Panchito was here, looking for_ him_? For what reason?

Admiral Grimitz seemed equally skeptical. "Why do you want Seaman Duck?"

Panchito let loose another one of his winning smiles. "Most of that information is classified, Señor. But I can tell you this. Donald is needed to be a part of a special mission. He will still be serving his nation; just at another station, in another branch of the military."

That was all Donald needed to hear. He gave a nervous laugh, turning to Grimitz as he did so. "Ah, heh, heh...Um, permission to speak with my friend privately, Sir?"

The Admiral sighed and rolled his eyes in annoyance, but grumbled, "Granted."

Quickly, Donald grabbed Panchito's arm, practically dragging him from the office to the outside hall. Panchito let him. He had been expecting this reaction from Donald. A moment later they were out of the Admiral's hearing range.

"What are you doing?!" Donald exploded in a loud whisper. His eyes were wide as he held Panchito in front of him. He was finding all this rather hard to swallow. He didn't know if he liked it. He wasn't even sure he knew what 'it' was!

"I told you, Donald," the rooster replied patiently, "I'm here to transfer you to a different department of the government."

Donald shook his head as if that alone would shake everything into place. "But what for?"

"To be my partner."

"...What?" Donald dropped his hands to his sides, a look of understanding sweeping over his expression. "So this is _your_ request!" It made sense now. It wasn't like he was doing such an amazing job in the Navy that he had been noticed. "You came here because _you_ want me to join _you_ in on a mission?!"

Panchito grinned and gave his a clap on the side of his arm. "Sí!"

"Then you really _are_ a government agent?"

"Sí!"

"And you really-"

Panchito rolled his eyes with a laugh. "Sí, sí, amigo! That is all true! Now are you going to come with me?" He watched Donald's face become thoughtful.

Donald hesitated. This was all happening so fast. "I...I don't know..."

"Aw, come on, Donal'," Panchito urged gently. "You're not happy here. I can tell. This place is so depressing and colorless. Surely you remember your birthday three years ago. The fun. The music. Don't you miss it, Donald? The excitement? The adventures?" His eyes shown with a familiar light. "I won't make you, you know," he added gently. "If it's not what you want, you don't have to come."

Donald froze. He had been about to refuse. He couldn't just up and leave his station...could he? But then his thoughts from before crept back into his mind. The hours of boring, unimportant work. Being an outcast in his own dream. Sending letters full of worthless lies to his nephews. What kind of life for him was the Navy? _How much longer can I go like this?_ It was a good question, and easy to answer. _I can't._ He couldn't do this anymore. It was going to drive him insane. Nobody cared about him here. There was no adventure. Ha, adventure. That alone was reason enough to go. Panchito was right. He wasn't happy here. The rooster was giving him a way out. All he had to do was accept it.

Donald slowly lifted his eyes to meet Panchito's shining ones. A smile started to spread across his face; one that matched his Mexican friend's own. "...When do we leave?"

Panchito's face lit up like a Christmas tree and he gave a whoop. "As soon as we get the papers signed, Amigo!"

Donald nodded. "Than let's go!"

They both turned and headed back into the Admiral's office. Grimitz looked thoroughly annoyed as Panchito returned to leaning against his desk.

"As I was saying, Señor, all you have to do is put your signature here...and here...and here and here and here." He pointed out each space with quick energetic movements.

It made Donald smile to see him so excited. It had been far too long since they had seen each other. He had forgotten how spastic Panchito could be. How energetic and reckless. But now, as he saw the rooster skillfully urging Grimitz to sign, all their adventures came back to him. He became increasingly excited as well. _Maybe this was what I needed._

"Gracias, Señor!" Panchito declared as the last space on he paper was filled. He snatched the document from the Admiral's hand, tucking it into his jacket. "I will help Seaman Donald Duck pack his belongings, and we shall be off! Good day to you, Señor!" With that Panchito took Donald and the two left for the duck's bunk. With a loud bang the rooster closed the door and they were gone.

Admiral Grimitz sat behind his desk staring at the closed portal blankly. He hadn't quite managed to grasp what had just happened. He had the most unsettling feeling he had just been taken; that the rooster had somehow pulled the wool over his eyes. Donald and the fellow seemed to know each other very well, so their was no worry that the duck was being duck-napped or anything. And the papers really had been authentic, so Panchito wasn't an imposter. But still...

Of course, losing Seaman Duck wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen. In fact, the more Grimitz thought about it, the more he liked the idea. To be honest, he _loved_ it! No more accidents; no more troublesome disasters! Oh, it was a dream come true! Grimitz folded his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair. Life was going to get a whole lot easier with Donald gone. And he was going to enjoy every minute of it. The government could have that tiring, clumsy imbecile. He would have his ship back; efficient and regulation, just like he had been wishing for ever since that duck had first come aboard.

Finally, he was rid of Seaman Donald Duck.

**...**

***Mi amigo! = My friend!**

*******Por amor de Dios = For goodness sake**

**- Donald went into the Navy during the entire duration of the show Ducktales, leaving his nephews with Scrooge McDuck, his uncle.**

**Whew, here we are! Donald's a part of the team now. Next up: Jose Carioca! :)**


	5. A Knack for Trouble

"Fora do caminho*! Look out!"

People in the crowded market swiftly jumped out of the way with shouts of protest as a green parrot tore through the sea of vendor's tents. Colorful baskets and crates of fruit obscured the fellow's route, and he changed directions quickly, causing people to cry out in surprise as he bumped them. A woman carrying an armful of groceries gave an angry call as her purchases were knocked from her hands to the pavement. But the green parrot kept running; not stopping to help. All she received from him was a hasty, "Desculpe, minha Senhora*! I am sorry!"

José Carioca was normally a very courteous and gentleman-like fellow. Normally. He usually stuck to leisurely walks and pleasant conversations with any passerby he came across. He was known as kindhearted, considerate, helpful and quite a relaxed personality as a rule...But not today. As he rushed through the streets of the Brazilian market he was anything but considerate, relaxed, or helpful. Today he couldn't afford to be anything of the kind. Because today he had managed to get into a bit of trouble. Again.

José ran through the streets of Brazil as fast as his green feathered legs would carry him. The thump of his feet hitting the pavement could be heard as he swerved, jumped, and twisted his way through the market. His breathing came in quick, spastic gasps as he pushed himself to move at an even greater rate. He kept glancing over his shoulder, ducking in and out of the crowd. Someone shouted angrily in Portuguese to his right, but he continued on. His eyes widened as he glance backward once more, noticing that his pursuers were catching up.

Three, huge macaws moved swiftly behind him; angry eyes trained on the parrot racing ahead. Their movements were strong and deliberate in their purpose. Though they were breathing heavily, they weren't as bad off as José. But, despite that fact, the parrot managed to keep ahead of the vengeful troop. The little fellow had turned out to be faster than they had anticipated, but that wasn't a problem. If they couldn't match José in speed, they could definitely outdo him in endurance. José was far smaller then the burly Macaw Brothers, especially next to the eldest brother, Carlos, who was nearly twice the green parrot's height. The large birds pumped harder, forcing the gap between the hunted and the hunters to slowly close.

José gave a yelp of fear when he saw how quickly they were gaining on him. He fervently wished he could move faster, but his body was beginning to scream in exhaustion, begging for him to stop. He was beyond tired. He could barely feel the ache in his legs anymore; just a sort of stumbling numbness that caused him to trip every now and then as he ran. The Macaws had chased him all through the city, and José was quickly losing his lead. His heart began to hurt with each thumping beat, sounding loud in his ears as a heated haze started to give him a headache. His ragged breaths tore at his throat, making it ache and thirsty. But he couldn't stop. Even now, as he began to feel dizzy, he knew he couldn't.

_Don't they ever get tired?!_

José knew that he couldn't outrun them. He knew that they'd catch up eventually; they were far stronger than him. But he wanted to prolong that situation as long as he could. The Brothers were known as a force better left alone; not that José had gotten on their bad side on purpose. It was a misunderstanding. A mistake. But try and tell that to a group of raging macaws intent on beating you to a pulp! And José knew he'd never be able to fight them. That was out of the question. He wasn't a fighter. Never had been, never would be. Not that he wouldn't have liked to turn around and rough up his harassers into the middle of next week. If he could, he would have done so; and fully enjoy it. But he knew that wasn't going to happen. He could not take on all three brothers alone. So, for now, his best tactic was to keep running until he either lost them or dropped.

_All right, Carioca_, he thought to himself, _Time to start using your wit!_

He turned a quick corner down another, even more crowded street. The Brothers now very close indeed. Thinking quickly, José kicked out with his foot, upsetting a stack of heavy crates. The wooden structures toppled into the lane, spilling their contents, which happened to be mangoes, and sending them scattering all over the way. José felt bad for the merchant to which the cargo belonged, but he made a mental note to go and apologize later. Right now, it was either him or the mangoes.

The Macaws turned the corner a second later. To their surprise, mangoes rolled under their feet, tripping them up as the orbs got between them and the pavement. The colorful fruits were tough and hard, obviously unripe; perfect for causing an avalanche of rolling mass. The slightly compressed circles tripped one of the brothers, causing him to fall flat on his beak with an angry growl. The other two managed to keep their footing and, after regaining their balance, resumed the chase. Their eyes showed the same, if not more, malice. It was clear that they wanted to cause the little green parrot harm. Even more so now than before.

José risked a glance behind him as he ran and gulped. _Okay, Okay, now what?!_

The mangoes had slowed them down a bit, but José was dismayed to see that they were regaining that distance at an alarming rate. Frantically, he glanced about him as he dashed along the street, trying to come up with another way to gain some ground. If he could do that, he had a chance. Ahead he spotted a thick, energetic gathering of people. They were all standing around a small band of músicos*, clapping and dancing. José felt his heart give a little jolt of joy at the sound of maracas and bongos. If there was anything that José loved dearly, it was music. The sound was like the movement of life; the soul of Brazil. He almost stopped to join the populace, before he remembered he was being chased. _Another time._

Putting on one more desperate burst of speed, José launched himself into the crowd. A moment later, his pursuers entered the throng as well. It was a jostling mess of people, many of whom were so caught up in the entertainment that they didn't notice or care about the birds forcing their way through. They continued swaying and stepping to the fast, encouraging beat. The shifting forest of legs and flowing skirts was difficult to navigate, but not impossible.

It was easier for José, being much smaller than the Macaws. He shuffled and ducked between, around, and even underneath the dancers. It was kind of smothering; all those people bunched together so tightly, and the movement was complicated. Even with all the twisting and turning he was doing, José got stepped on at least twice. It made him grateful that he wasn't claustrophobic. Not that this was enjoyable. He felt pressed in; trapped. He wanted to take a moment to rest, but, again, he couldn't stop. He had to keep pushing through.

Behind him he could here the angry mutters of his pursuers. That spurred him on, knowing that the Brothers would be close behind. Another moment, and José broke free of the crowd, stumbling as he regained the ability to stand and walk normally once more. It was like breaking out into a sunny clearing, where he could finally breath. Looking back, he could see his foes still working their way through the teaming sea of bystanders. One was having better luck, moving at a faster rate. Unfortunately, it was Carlos, who just so happened to be the angriest of the three goons. The other was struggling hard, pushing people aside with a frustrated grunt. He kept getting tangled in the legs of the dancers; tripping and falling, and bringing several people down with him. The dancers began to notice them then. There was a breakout of angry Portuguese as men and women alike started shouting and shoving. The music continued, but the enthusiastic crowd was now a group of very angry people. They ganged up on the two Macaws, slowing them down further. The Brothers would break out soon, but José had gained a good twenty feet or so before they did.

Taking to his feet once again, José ran down a few side streets, now out of the market and back into the city. He carefully ran around an elderly couple and a number of meandering tourists. His hope was renewed as he rushed through the lanes. He knew these roads pretty well, and he hoped he'd be able to navigate them well enough to find a safe place to hide. Maybe he could even make it back home. Then he'd be safe for sure and-_Oops_...

Turning a sharp right, José found himself face to face with a dark, intimidating wall of brick. With dismay, the parrot realized he had taken a turn onto a dead end alleyway. _Maybe I don't know these streets as well as I thought._

Skidding to a stop he quickly turned to head back the way he had come, hoping to make it before the Macaws caught up to him. He was almost out when three, hulking shadows emerged to block the way. With a gasp, José froze, unsure of where to go next. But, looking at the three brick walls of the alley that surrounded him, he realized there was nowhere _to_ go.

"Well, look what we've got here."

Carlos Macaw stepped into the dim light of the alley, smiling cruelly. He was immediately joined by his two brothers. They were all out of breath, sweaty and tired. But most of all, angry. José could see the glow of evil intent in their eyes. They wanted to beat him up, and they were planning on enjoying every minute of it.

José took a step backwards, still trying to regain his breath. His legs felt weak and shaky from his wild run. And he still found it hard to hear anything other than his pounding heart. _Not good! _"Bom dia, Amigos*!" the parrot greeted nervously. He tried putting on a friendly smile, but that too was shakier than he liked. "I hope you are all...ah, well?"

"We are not your amigos!" one growled; the youngest, who was still a whole head taller than José.

"But our day just got a whole lot better," Carlos smirked. He took a meaningful step toward José, resulting in the cornered parrot quickly taking a step back. The macaw laughed, interpreting the movement as one of fear. "You're afraid of us!" The thought seemed to bring him great pleasure.

José would never admit it, especially to these durões*; but he was thoroughly frightened out of his wits. He could feel his body starting to shake even more as his anxiety increased. He fervently hoped that it wasn't visible. He tried to maintain a calm, nonchalant attitude. "Afraid?" José chuckled. The sound came out strangely; more of a choke than an actual laugh. He was still out of breath. His heart beat wildly, adding to his distress.

The Carlos grinned even more and stepped closer.

José moved to take yet another step back, but found himself pressed up against the brick wall. He was trapped! The look of panic that crossed his face was beyond his control to stop. He held his hands up in front of him, as though that alone would stop any harm from reaching him. "Now, caras*," he said, knowing this was his last chance to persuade them to be reasonable. "Let's not do anything we might regret. I-I can explain everything about last night!"

"Oh, we won't feel any regret," the macaw smiled. "But _you_ will. Adão! Gaulberto! Grab him!"

The other two birds came forward to snatch José by his arms. The green parrot tried to wiggle free from their grasp, but it was no use. His opponents were nearly twice as tall as he was; and a good deal stronger. They held him firmly as Carlos positioned himself in front of their victim. He pushed up his right sleeve, smirking at José's weakening struggles to escape. "I've been looking forward to this all day," he grinned. He pulled back his arm, preparing to smash his fist into the smaller bird's chest.

A look of terror filled José's face as he suddenly realized just how painful his day was about to get. He took a deep breath and snapped his eyes shut; stiffening his body, hoping that, somehow, that would make everything hurt less. His body froze; everything seeming to slow in anticipation of the blow. Even his heart and ragged breathing halted as he waited for the impact of the fist to his unprotected front.

"Stop right there, Señor!" A voice rang out in the alley. It was loud and strong; not to be messed with, and, to José...strangely familiar. But José didn't open his eyes to see. He still expected the blow. What could one person do to stop Carlos Macaw?

The thugs looked up in annoyance, taking in the two birds who had suddenly seemed to appear in the alleyway. The one who had spoken was a rooster with red clothing and equally red feathers. He looked extremely angry; as did his companion, a white duck dressed in a blue sailor shirt and cap. They weren't very big. In fact, Carlos determined they were only slightly taller than José. Normally, they could have beaten these meddling tourists easily. But there was one thing the Macaws Brothers noticed that changed that idea at once. The rooster had a pair of pistols aimed in their direction.

Adão and Gaulberto hunched over nervously, but Carlos Macaw was less intimidated than his brothers by the colorful duo. He narrowed his eyes at the newcomers. "Don't get involved in this! It doesn't concern you!" He turned back to José who still had his eyes clenched tightly closed. The thug pulled back his fist once again, intent on causing the little green parrot as much pain as possible. He was about to unleash his punch when a gunshot rang out, ricocheting off the cobblestone street right near his feet. Everyone in the alley jumped, including José, who snapped his eyes open to see what had happened.

"De lo contrario," the rooster said, not lowering his smoking gun. "You are mistaken. It _does_ concern us!"

A look of shock crossed the Brazilian parrot's expression when he suddenly noticed the two standing in the alley entrance. At first, he thought he was seeing things, but as the rooster gave him a friendly smile, José realized it was real. "Panchito! Donald!" His voice carried in the alley, making it sound louder than he had intended. He flinched when the three thugs shot him an angry glare. José wasn't sure what in the world his friends were doing in Brazil, but, at the moment, he didn't care.

Panchito was still posed in the position he'd been in when he fired the warning shot. He looked calm on the outside, but inside he was becoming very nervous. The scene before him was bringing back some unpleasant images of the night three days ago when he had been ambushed by the vultures in the seaside town. The way the macaws were gripping José's arms and pressing him back against the brick wall reminded Panchito of his own traumatic encounter. He knew he'd have to be careful, if he wanted José to make it out of this unharmed. He felt his worry grow with each moment. He was just glad they had happened to be standing in the marketplace when their friend had run through.

He and Donald had left the airplane carrier the morning before, reaching Rio de Janero earlier that evening. They had done some asking around, trying to figure out where to find their Brazilian friend. Finally they had come across someone who knew Carioca, and were able to get directions to his house. The address was easy enough to locate, but, to the two's frustration, they had found the home deserted. Figuring that José might be out for a stroll, Panchito and Donald decided to walk the streets looking for him. They had wandered into the market and where just about to move on when they saw their friend racing through the crowd with three macaws on his tail. Quickly taking chase, the two friends came to the alleyway only shortly after the Macaw Brothers, finding José Carioca struggling against the three, burly pursuers.

Panchito thought back to his conversation with Colonel Hawkins. He needed to be careful. _Think_ _things_ _through_. _Don't go charging in._ This was a good chance to try test his control. Maybe then, everything would work out, and he'd finally have a couple of partners that didn't practically get killed on their first mission. He just had to be careful. _Careful._

"Release him," Panchito demanded sternly, recocking his pistol. His face was set and his eyes bored into the Carlos's rebellious ones. It was a match of will between the two. Who was more stubborn. Who had the stronger will.

The other two macaws were a little more compliant; letting go of José's arms immediately. They didn't like the confident air of this Mexican stranger, and weren't willing to take a bet on how serious he was. José swayed slightly on his feet as they let him go, but regained his balance a second later. Despite appearing very tired, he looked extremely relieved and happy. Though he was still weary of Carlos Macaw's angry glare.

"Good," Panchito said approvingly, "Now, José, come over here with us, Amigo. Let him through!" The last part of his sentence was directed at Carlos, who was still looking frighteningly defient. The rooster kept his eyes and pistol trained on the fellow, who returned his gaze with pure and unashamed hatred. They stayed like that for a short time, but then Carlos smirked. It was as though he was secretly impressed by Panchito's tough act. As though he knew it was a tough act. Or was it a surrender? Either way, Panchito didn't trust it.

Glancing at José, Carlos Macaw growled dangerously, "Well?! Go on!"

José felt relief well up in his chest. Stepping away from the wall he had felt trapped against only a moment before, he carefully and wearily stepped around the Macaw Brothers, thinking he was finally out of trouble. He was just past Carlos when suddenly a force hit him in the back, sending him tripping forward as he struggled to catch his footing. The kick Carlos had given him sent him stumbling right into Panchito.

The red rooster gave a gasp, redirecting his pistol as it went off so as not to shoot his friend. He had expected Carlos to do _something_, but not kick José into him! The action surprised Panchito, throwing him further off guard. He tried to catch the green parrot; Donald assisting him. But before he could properly recover, a brightly feathered hand came crashing down on the rooster's wrists, followed by a painful chop to his already bandaged chest. Panchito gave a cry of agony as both his pistols fell to the street. He stumbled a few steps back as Carlos bent to pick one of the guns up from the ground. Gritting his beak, Panchito shot out his left leg, catching Carlos in the side and causing the macaw to roar in pain and anger. The thug swung his fist, slugging Panchito in the jaw. The rooster reared backward, slamming hard against the wall of the alley. Before he could push himself back up he felt a pair of hands suddenly latch around his throat.

In a quick motion, Panchito pushed the hands away, sending his knee up sharply into Carlos's stomach. The macaw gave a pained gasp, backing away and clutching his gut. He sent a glare at the rooster before making another rush for one of the discarded pistols that still lay on the ground behind him. Panchito saw his intent, and, in one smooth motion, threw himself into a roll, crashing into the back of Carlos's legs. The action sent the macaw and the rooster rolling right over one of the weapons; Panchito grabbing it as they did. The rooster jumped to his feet, shouting, "Enough; stop, or I'll shoot!" He was looking at Carlos, but was actually addressing the other two macaws.

The two thugs had launched themselves at Donald and José the minute their older brother had jumped into action. The American duck had held his own in the fight, actually managing to get in a couple of good hits at the pair. José, who was already worn and tired, hadn't been as lucky; and had received a few painful blows. But he had still managed to give as good as he got. At Panchito's threat all fighting ceased. The thugs froze, leaving Donald and José to scramble away to stand beside the rooster.

Panchito glared at the three bullies. "If you value your feathers, Señors, I suggest you leave. Now." He grabbed the remaining gun from the ground, cocking the other in his hand meaningfully.

There was a long, tense silence before Carlos grudgingly picked himself up from the dirty alleyway and, signaling his brothers to follow, gave one final glare before leaving. The thugs left the alley, and a moment later, Panchito, Donald, and José were alone. The three remained still and quiet for a moment before Panchito holstered his guns and turned to the other two.

"Are you alright?" His voice was laced with concern. He took in his friends' appearances. Donald looked a little ruffled, and dirty, but otherwise unharmed. In fact, the duck was smiling. José was a little worse off. His clothes, the same pale yellow jacket Panchito remembered, was wrinkled, torn, and covered in dust. The little black bow tie had undone itself, hanging loosely against the parrot's chest. He looked bruised, leaning slightly against the wall for support, having taken a couple harsh hits to his side. However, he too seemed undeterred by the brawl and was giving Panchito a smile. The two nodded that they were fine.

Panchito sighed in relief, returning to his usual, cheerful self. He crossed his arms in mock anger, fixing José with a teasing glare. "Santo cielo*! What did you do to make them so mad, José?"

Donald looked just as curious. "Yeah?" The José he knew wasn't one for getting into trouble _that_ deep. Sure, the parrot had a knack for getting into small fixes, they were usually quite easy to handle. José Carioca was normally calm and collected. Suave, in his own way, and quite smart. He usually talked his way out of tough spots. Donald couldn't imagine what he could have done to get into such a jam.

José started to dust down his clothes, trying in vain to brush away the wrinkles before giving up. He gave the other two an almost embarrassed smile. "Ah...well, you see..." He paused, unsure of how to put it. "I...took a lovely young woman to the theater last night..."

Panchito lifted an eyebrow curiously. "Oh? And?"

José smiled sheepishly. "We watched the movie. I walked her home. Told her she was the most beautiful woman in Brazil. She gave me a pouco kiss on my cheek..."

His friends stared at him blankly; not seeing the problem.

José shrugged. "I didn't know she had a very jealous suitor." His smile grew as the realization dawned on the Panchito's face.

Donald was still a little lost. "You mean one of those three was her-?"

"Boyfriend. Sim*," José finished, once again trying to make himself a little more presentable. It didn't work. He still looked pathetically beat up. "Carlos Macaw found out I was getting to know his namorada*. Needless to say, he was not happy." The green parrot chuckled, stepping forward to give both his friends a grateful handshake. "But, thanks to you, everything is just fine!" He pause to take in his two amigos. "A propósito*, what are you fellows doing in Brazil?"

Donald and Panchito exchanged glances with a smile. Stepping forward, the red rooster began to explain what he had explained yesterday to Donald. How Panchito worked for a 'special' branch of the government, and that he needed a partner. However, just as he had with Donald, Panchito left out exactly what becoming his partner would entail. Nor did he mention exactly what 'branch of government' he was a part of. He carefully skirted around those subjects and asked José if he would like to come with him and Donald to Mexico to become the Three Caballeros once again.

José looked hesitant. It wasn't that he didn't want to go. Far from it! The chance to be with his closest friends; having fantastic adventures again, was very enticing. But also at extremely short notice. To do that, José would have to just up and leave. Did he want to do that? _Could_ he do that?

"How long would I be in the service?" He asked.

"A year or so." Panchito noted the undecided look on his friend's face. "It would be a good chance for you to get away," he added quickly, an encouraging grin lighting up his expression. "You know, while things here with the Macaws cool down a bit...You know they'll be back." The last part might not have been necessary, but Panchito couldn't help but add it in. He still found it hilarious that his Brazilian friend had gotten himself into such a complicated fix.

The rooster's words seemed to do the trick. José quickly extended his hand. "I'm in, Panchito." The three shook hands and then cautiously made their way back to the parrot's house; keeping a lookout for any more trouble. They helped José pack and, before the sun had set, were already boarding a plane for Mexico.

The sky turned a brilliant hue of red, lighting up the clouds like the background of some giant medieval painting. It was beautiful. It promised brighter days ahead. But sometimes those sunny days are further than we think. Sometimes there are darker days that stand between now and then. Because for every light-filled day there must first be a dark, inky night. But those nights are far easier when we have friends who stand by us. Then, and only then, do we make it to the dawn.

**...**

***Fora do caminho! = Get out of the way! (Portuguese)**

***Desculpe, minha senhora! = Sorry, Madam! (Portuguese)**

***Bom dia, amigos = Good day, friends (Portuguese)**

***Músicos = M****usicians (Portuguese)**

***Durões = ****tough guys (Portuguese)**

***Santo cielo! = Good heavens! (Spanish)**

***Sim = Yes (Portuguese)**

***A propósito = By the way**

***Namorada = Girlfriend (Portuguese)**

***Caras = guys**

***P****ouco = Little**


	6. Partners

It was rather crowded on the back of Señor Martinez, Panchito's horse. All three caballeros were seated in a row; Panchito in front, guiding the reins, Donald next, and then a rather nervous José sitting in the far back. They had safely arrived in Mexico by plane, staying the night in a hotel in a small, inlet town. Panchito had left his steed in the hotel stable when he had left to find Donald and José, so they would be able to ride back to the fort. That morning they had set out by horse across an expanse of desert-like terrain. It was nothing but sand, small shrubs, cacti, and...more sand. Not to mention the hot rays of the desert sun, which became more unbearable as it rose out of the east and started to climb the clear blue sky. Even now, as afternoon began to approach, it beat down on their heads. Actually, more precisely; their hats. Panchito, who had lived all his life in the warm, dry regions of Mexico, knew the dangers of the relentless sunlight. Before they had left town, the rooster had made sure to buy a sombrero for both his friends. But still, even with their heads covered, they had the unique feeling of being baked alive.

"How much further, Panchito?" Donald's voice came from behind the rooster's back. He sounded miserable or bored; maybe both. He watched the sand swirling with the wind in the distance. It only helped in making him thirstier than he already was. It filled his head with images of cool fountains and wet, glistening pools of a refreshing spring. But of course, there was nothing of the kind for many, many miles. A fact that only increased his misery.

"Not much longer, Donald," Panchito replied. He knew that, of the three of them, Donald had the least patience. The duck was quick tempered and almost completely lacking in tolerance. The rooster could sense that his friend's self-control was wearing thin. Slipping a hand into his jacket, Panchito pulled out a small canteen of water. Holding it over the back of his shoulder, he said, "Here, Donald. Take some and pass the rest back to José." He felt Donald ease it from his hand and take it. That should ease the duck's thirst. Panchito returned to urging his horse along at a steady pace. The rhythm of the _cloppity cloppity_ in the dry sand was almost soothing. "Don't worry, amigos," he added as cheerfully as he could, "You will get used to the heat before too long." He hoped. It would be hard to travel with partners with no endurance for heat.

Neither of his friends argued, nor did they answer. But after a few moments the rooster felt a tap on his shoulder and the canteen was passed back to him. He was both surprised and touched that Donald and José had left enough for him to quench his own, less unbearable, thirst. With a smile, Panchito took a gulp before carefully tucking it back under his jacket. He gazed out at the vast world before them. It was a place that stretched on forever. As though the great desert had no end. In all directions it stretched, an unfathomable rug of dry grit, as far as the eye could see. It made one feel very small and forgotten. Abandoned. As if you were somehow the only being left on Earth. It was an odd feeling, and yet it wasn't uncomfortable or frightening.

Panchito decided that it would be better, and most likely make the time go by faster, if he could somehow engage his friends in conversation. It was worth a shot. José and Donald were probably tired, hungry, and overheated. If he could get them to talk, maybe they'd forget about their misery.

"Hey, Donald, what is it that you do in the Navy?"

There was an uncomfortable pause, before Donald's voice drifted out from behind him once again. "I...I run errands and...clean." His voice carried a tone of embarrassment, and Panchito began to wonder if he had asked the wrong question.

"Clean?"

"Yeah. Like scrubbing the deck, and washing windows."

_Yup. Definitely the wrong question to ask._ "Ah. I see."

There was another long pause before José's voice rose from the rear. "I did not know you were in the American Navy, Donald. Where are your nephews staying while you are away?" The green parrot had never met Huey, Dewey, and Louie, but he had heard about them from Donald, and knew that the four were very close.

"They're staying with my Uncle Scrooge. He's rich, you see, so he can afford to-"

"He's rich?" Panchito interrupted. He saw this as his chance at getting the conversation going.

"I didn't know you had a wealthy uncle," José added. It was almost as though the parrot knew what Panchito was trying to do. Of course, José was quite smart. He had probably come to the same conclusion; that talking would pass the time.

Donald then launched into a lengthy story about his Uncle Scrooge's exploits. He told of treasure hunts, journeys to obscure regions of the globe, and archaeological digs; all filled with golden splendor. He found it odd that his friend's knew nothing about Scrooge, with him being the richest duck in the world and all. But he knew that neither José nor Panchito put all that much stock in money. Sure they valued it as a necessity of survival in a world where money was needed. But there was no greed in the two; something that Donald was slightly embarrassed to admit. The duck could remember a few times when he had let the love of wealth cloud his reasoning. But not Panchito and José. They treasured other things besides gold and silver. And maybe that was why Donald got along with them so well. Donald knew he'd never be rich like his uncle. But that was alright. Friendship is often much more profitable, and can't be bought.

The conversation moved on to other subjects, as most conversations will. They talked about past adventures they had experienced since they had last been together. Donald told stories of the joys and pains of raising three mischievous nephews; Panchito fascinated them with legends of the old west; and José made them burst out laughing with a number of strange fixes the parrot had managed to get himself into.

Panchito was glad to see his friends had forgotten about their discomfort. The journey began to pass by at a much faster rate. They had a general good time, even breaking into song once or twice while reminiscing about old times. Time seemed to lose its value as the three friends enjoyed each other's company. And, before long, the pale, sand colored walls of Fort Cawford slowly come into view. It rose from the horizon like a sleeping beast; silent, secret, and nearly invisible in the desert surroundings.

José and Donald were so caught up in their discussion, that they didn't even notice the structure until Panchito's voice broke in and pointed it out. "There it is, mes amigos! Fort Cawford!" He turned in the saddle so he could see his friends' faces. "Your new home."

Donald and José leaned to the side so that they could see behind their Mexican companion and Señor Martinez's neck. At first, they didn't see anything, and their expressions reflected their confusion. But then, first José, then Donald, were able to pick out and distinguish the four, worn walls of the fort. Their eyes opened wide and they let their jaws drop, causing Panchito to chuckle. Watching his friends' reaction made him feel like he was seeing the fort through their eyes for the first time.

Cawford was quite large. Abnormally immense for a fort. It's walls seemed to tower over them as they drew closer. It was like some great, forgotten castle; left to decay in the shifting sands of time. It looked ancient; old and mysterious. But, Panchito realized, it also looked rather imposing; a tomb of some long abandoned king, only above ground. In fact, it was kind of frightening. Pachito vaguely wondered if he had felt this way the first time he had come to Cawford. But he couldn't remember. His father had taken him here since he had been born. Panchito knew every sound, every feeling, and every smell by heart. It was a part of him. His home.

"That's where we are going?" José breathed. His eyes were wide, taking in the impressive edifice with a mix of awe and uneasiness. He looked to Panchito's smiling face for a response and the rooster nodded. The parrot looked back at the fort. "It's big."

Donald seemed to agree. He sat there, his beak hanging open comically. It looked like one of those forts one might see in an old movie; depicting the wild ways of the west. It was a lonely looking place, at least on the outside. Appearing deserted and desolate. And it remained so until they were right beside the enormous, closed gates.

Panchito sat a little straighter in the saddle, scooting up a bit as though he wanted to make sure he was seen. He gave the other two an encouraging smile before calling out in a loud voice. "Hey allí! Soy yo, Panchito*! Open up!"

For a moment there was no answer. The fort seemed just as deserted as it had from afar. But then, above the gates, on some hidden parapet, a head peered down at them. It was an older fellow; a beagle. His clothes were worn and dirty, as though the dust of the desert had colored him permanently. His hat was equally filthy, with large chunks missing from the brim. He had a good weeks worth of hair growth on his face, adding to his scruffy appearance. But a twinkle in his eyes was visible, making him seem to be much younger at heart. He squinted down at the trio, shielding his eyes against the now steadily setting sun. He opened and closed his mouth, producing a smacking sound as his face lit up in a cheery grin.

"Well, I'll be fit ta be tied!" he exclaimed, leaning down to get a better look. "If it ain't Panchito Pistoles! Where ya been? Ya've been gone fer nigh on four days!"

Panchito gave a laugh. "You know I can't tell you that, Jeremiah! Not until I talk to Señor Hawkins. Now how about letting us in?"

There was a few mutterings of disappointment as the old timer disappeared from view. A second later the great, log gates gave a deep groan. Panchito urged his horse back a few steps, giving the portal plenty of room. With a mighty creak, the doors slowly opened inward. The sturdy, majestic movement reminded one of the miraculous parting of the Red Sea*. Two great, shifting walls with a safe path for the journeying soul to cross unharmed. With a resounding _boom_ that seemed to shake the very sand they stood on, the gates came to a halt, now fully open.

The old beagle's head appeared above them once more. "Well? What ya wait'n fer, an invitation? Come on inside!" He gave a cackling laugh, even though there wasn't anything particularly hilarious about his words.

Panchito smiled and gently spurred Señor Martinez forward with a light tap of his heal in the horses side. There was a slight jolt as they went into motion, but then the horse began a steady walk in through the gates. Panchito gave the gatekeeper a friendly salute as they passed. "That's Señor Jeremiah, the watchman. He's been here as long as I can remember. Since I was a little niño*. He makes sure no one enters who is not supposed too."

"But he let us in," José pointed out.

"Sí, because you were with me. And he knows that I would never bring anyone here untrustworthy." He gave another one of his cheerful grins. "And now, mira, mis amigos*! Look!" He spread his arms wide, not bothering to steer his horse any longer, for Señor Martinez knew the way.

And look Donald and José did. They took in the buildings, the well, the stables, the parapets, the barracks, and the four sturdy walls that kept it all safe and nearly completely hidden from prying, unfriendly eyes. The place was teaming with life; even more so than the day Panchito had left. Men and woman birds, dogs, cats, and any other creature imaginable were represented. There rushed back and forth, working on various tasks. It was a heart warming sight. The buzz of excitement was in the air, but with it came an overlaying sense of courage. You could literally feel the raw bravery coming off these people in waves. People who were far from home, working to save lives and defeat evil. It was amazing.

Panchito pulled his horse up alongside a wooden beam just outside a building. A sign over the door read: _Headquarters_. It was the most official-looking structure in the fort, and the newest. The walls were less worn, and the planks of wood that made up the steps weren't as chipped as those of the other buildings. Another noticeable difference was the large glass window that sat smack in the middle of the forward-facing wall. The other windows of the structures of the fort; the barracks, stables, and storehouses, all had open windows. No glass in them.

Panchito carefully slide from Señor Martinez's back, falling lightly on his feet to the dusty ground. He waited a moment while his friends followed suit, a little clumsier than his own dismount. Once they were all down, and his horse was efficiently tied to the post, Panchito gave a wave for them to follow. "Come, mis amigos." With that he headed up the steps into the building.

...

Colonel Hawkins stared in surprise at the two 'partners' that his best agent had brought into his office. He was trying not to be rude, and he certainly wasn't trying to make them uncomfortable; but he was just so dog-gone shocked! He had expected Panchito to pick from their own, _real_ agents. Not a couple of outsiders! It left him speechless, and with a feeling of dread that promised yet another letter of explanation to General Almaraz.

The two birds stood slightly behind a smiling Panchito, hats off and clutched in front of them; obviously nervous. Panchito had introduced them as Donald Duck and José Carioca, and both had given the Colonel a courteous bow, not knowing whether to treat him as royalty or salute. While they seemed uncomfortable, the rooster appeared to be thoroughly amused both by their reaction _and_ Hawkins's. He stood, arms crossed over his chest, something between a smile and a smirk on his beak.

Hawkins managed to swallow his surprise long enough to stand and give a curt nod. "Ahem...Welcome gentlemen. I trust your journey was pleasant?"

Donald stepped forward with a gentle smile. "Yes, Sir. A little warm, but we'll get used to that." He smiled again, his eyes crunching up with the action.

Of his two companions, Donald felt the most at home in the Colonel's office. It wasn't all that unlike his Uncle Scrooge's place of work. Though, he realized, a few centuries earlier in design. It had a distinctly Civil War period feel to it. Right down to the paintings on the wall. It was obviously American, as was the Colonel. It made him feel a little less nervous; knowing that he wouldn't be surrounded only by Spanish speaking people. Though, it did make him wonder why a Mexican fort would be under the direction of an American Colonel. It didn't make sense. But he figured he'd ask Panchito later on.

José remained where he was, silently taking in the room and its furnishings. He too realized the design was not of Mexican origin, though he was not aware that it was American. He did, however, notice something odd. Most forts like this, at least, any he had ever heard of, were for defense purposes. To keep supplies and other cargo safe from raiders or other such unpleasant characters. Either that or they were used to guard important cities or valuable routes. But those types of forts were rare nowadays. In fact, José hadn't been aware that they even existed anymore. And few did, other than ones made into museums or tourist attractions. But this fort was no tourists stop. It was far out in the middle of nowhere. As if it wasn't meant to be found.

José began to have an uneasy feeling that Panchito hadn't told them everything about this 'partnership'. That there was something he had deliberately left out. Government agents didn't work like this anymore. This was like an old western show; cowboys, Indians, the works. Something about this place was different. Unique. But he'd have to wait for Panchito to fess up. It wasn't like José could just turn around and walk home. He'd just have to stick it out, and hope he hadn't gotten into even deeper trouble than he'd been in Brazil.

"Well," Hawkins said kindly, stashing his discomfort in the back of his mind for the moment. "You two would probably like to get the desert dust out of your feathers. I'll have someone show you to your quarters. CORPORAL WIGGS!" A small, uniformed crow poked his head in through the office door. "I want you to show these two about. Get them situated in their bunks and give them the tour."

"Yes, Sir."

Panchito gave the Colonel a curious glance. "But, Señor, I can show them about the fo-"

"No." The look Hawkins was giving him caused the rooster to shut his beak at once. He didn't have to be a mind reader to know Hawkins wanted to talk, and that Hawkins was _not _happy. Panchito was in trouble yet again.

Corporal Wiggs escorted Donald and José out of the office door, already excitingly chattering away about the features of the fort he was going to show them. Nervous about leaving their friend's side, the two looked back at Pachito, as though they were asking his permission to leave. The rooster smiled and gave an encouraging nod, and a few moments later the agent and his Colonel were left alone. Instinctively, Panchito braced himself for a serious scolding. He wasn't disappointed.

"What were you thinking?!" The question burst forth from Colonel Hawkins as if he had been struggling to hold it back all this time. And maybe he had. "Those men are not agents! They're civilians!"

Panchito quickly held up a finger, barely getting a word in edgewise. "Donald's in the Navy-"

"-That's not the point! I told you to go and find yourself a partner; I gave you a chance to get your act together and-''

"-And I have!" Panchito interjected. He was beginning to feel frustrated. He should have known Hawkins wouldn't go along with this easily. He ran a tired hand over his face. "Look, Señor Hawkins...You asked me to find a partner I could work with. Someone I could trust with my life. Well, Señor, no one fits the bill better than José and Donald. They're the only ones I've ever teamed up with in the past that worked out and didn't end in disaster. You asked me to find a partner that I cared about. Well, Señor, I found _two_ who are as close to me as brothers. You set the terms, Colonel; and I met them the best I could." He might have been a little out of line, but the rooster didn't care. This was important to him.

Hawkins gazed at the rooster for a long moment, as if taking in Panchito's words very carefully. It was true the Colonel hadn't specified that Panchito was supposed to pick from the fort's agents. He hadn't specified at all, really. The red rooster had gone out and done, to a degree, what Hawkins had told him to. And that was a rarity in and of itself. Panchito hardly ever listened. Hawkins sighed. "I probably shouldn't be doing this..." He gave Panchito as hard a look as he could muster. "But seeing as I wasn't exactly clear, and the fact that you've already gone and brought them into our _secret _headquarters...I guess we can give them a try."

"Yahoo!" Panchito whooped, fighting hard to keep himself from drawing his guns and letting fly a few excited shots into the Colonel's ceiling. But since he wouldn't want to anger Hawkins, especially when he was in such a good mood, Panchito managed to control the urge. "Gracias, Señor! Gracias!" He shook the Colonel's hand with quick, pumping movements, nearly pulling Hawkins from his chair. "I will start training them in the morning! Gracias, Colonel! Gracias!"

"Yes, yes; now get out of here before I change my mind!" Hawkins smiled fondly as the rooster practically flew out of the office, still throwing a series of Spanish-filled phrases of gratitude over his shoulder. The door slammed shut and Hawkins was left with the silence of his richly furnished place of work. He shook his head, the smile still firmly fixed on his beak.

_How do I get myself into these messes?_

**...**

***Hey allí! Soy yo, Panchito! = Hey up there! It's me, Panchito! (Spanish)**

***The mention of the Red Sea is a reference to God parting the waters of the Red Sea in the Bible so that the Israelites could cross safely and escape their enemies.**

*******Mira, mis amigos! = Look here, my friends! (Spanish)**

***N****iño = Boy (Spanish)**

**There we go, the boys are now officially a team! But the adventure's just starting. Don't forget, Panchito still has some unfinished business with a certain evil Vulture to worry about...**

**DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW!**


	7. One Thing Leads to Another

"Despierta, mis amigos*! Wake up!"

The loud shout beside them in the early hours of the morning was something neither Donald nor José appreciated. The two still felt exhausted from their trek through the dry, hot, sandy desert the night before, and wanted nothing more then to remain warm and snug in the bunks they had been provided. The Colonel had actually given the three partners their own room, instead of the main barracks where all the other soldiers and agents slept. Their room was cramped, with a three mattress bunk-bed stuck in the corner. It had a sink, as well as a tiny closet, and even sported an small, glassless window in the wall opposite the beds. All in all, not bad. The two new recruits had fallen into bed long before Panchito joined them, to tired to even think about dinner. Donald took the bottom bunk, since he was known to sleepwalk, and José claimed the middle one, leaving Panchito to take the top bed. Big mistake.

Panchito used his high perch to purposely step on their bunks as he tried to wake his reluctant friends out of slumber. "Vamos, amigos!*" he crowed happily, shaking their shoulders and pulling the covers off of their tired bodies. "It is a beautiful day, and we have much to do!"

Donald moaned, not even lifting his head from the pillow. "What's so important that we can't sleep in a little?"

Panchito gave an exasperated sigh. "It is time to start your first day of training! Now, arriba*! Arriba, mis amigos!"

José started to make his way down from his bunk groggily. He swayed a little as he landed beside the rooster. The parrot squinted up at the wall of black outside their window. "What...what time is it?"

"Four in the morning."

"WHAT?!" Donald and José stared at their friend as if he had all but lost his mind. They couldn't believe that Panchito would get them up that early. It was cruel; heartless. And yet, here the rooster was; wide awake and just as cheerful as always. He was dressed and rearing to go, completely oblivious to the fact that any normal, sensible person should still be asleep.

Deciding it was useless to resist, since Panchito was not about to leave them alone, Donald and José got dressed and followed their companion outside and into the center of the courtyard. The place was not as deserted as the two newcomers had expected. They weren't the only ones up and about. A number of agents were already going about their day. Some looked as though they were heading out; probably on some mission or another. One agent was unsaddling his horse, having just returned from a journey, and was about to head to bed to get some rest. All in all, there were a lot more people awake at this "ridiculous" hour than they would ever have imagined.

Panchito led his still sleepy companions to a less populated part of the fort, where they wouldn't get in anyone's way. He rubbed his hands together and turned to his friends. "Well, let's get started," he said cheerfully. "There are certain things that you will need to learn that you will find to be very useful during your time here. They are skills that will help keep you safe, and will, hopefully make our work as a team more efficient." The other two gave a nod, finally beginning to wake up fully. "Now, first, mis amigos, is to learn how to fight."

"But we already know how to do that," Donald piped up with a yawn. "We got into that brawl with those Macaw Brothers and won, didn't we?"

Panchito rubbed the back of his neck, taking in the condition of his two teammates. Donald had managed to walk away from the fight with nothing more than ruffled feathers. José, on the other hand, still looked a little sore. The rooster had seen the dark bruises the Brazilian had obtained, and noticed how, even now, the parrot seemed to be favoring one hip. He knew it was nothing serious, that's why Panchito hadn't brought it up; but it worried the rooster all the same. If he couldn't get his friends, especially José, up to at least a mild level of self defense, he knew they could end up with much worse than just a bruised side.

"That was more of a hand of luck, Donald," he answered carefully. "We were _lucky_ that we won and we were _lucky_ none of us were hurt too badly in the process. No, what I have to teach you is a little more advanced, amigos." He looked at his companions. They both looked a little nervous, but that was understandable. After a moment, Panchito made his decision and nodded to the duck. "Donald, you will be first. Atacarme*; see if you can knock me to the ground." He struck a pose; prepared and ready.

Donald seemed a bit unsure, but was willing to give it a go. Rolling up his sleeves, he marched purposefully up to the rooster, swinging a fist. He paused as if to ask Panchito whether that was what the rooster really wanted. But Panchito nodded. So Donald swung; right for his friend's head.

The next thing he knew, Donald was laying, dazed, on his back on the dusty ground. He blinked a few times, trying to understand how Panchito had managed to down him so easily. Donald had attacked with a good amount of strength, though he would never have really hurt his friend. But Panchito had grabbed his wrist, giving it a firm tug and a twist; sending him spinning harmlessly to the left. At the same time, the rooster had stuck out his foot, effectively tripping the duck to the ground.

Panchito laughed at Donald's confused and shocked expression. The face the duck was making was priceless! Donald had truly swung at him, and it might have been a powerful punch, if there had been less hesitation behind it. Panchito was well aware that his friends wouldn't want to hurt him, and therefore wouldn't try as hard to hit him. Not that he wanted them to knock his head off, but he did want them to learn that, when one is in danger, one can't afford to be gentle. Donald had not put all his strength into that blow, of that Panchito was certain. But he knew how to fix that. If there was anything in the world that was easy to do, it was getting Donald mad. If Panchito could get him riled enough, he would have a better chance of gauging the duck's skill and true strength.

"Oh, vamos*, Donald! You can do better than that!" The rooster struck his fighting pose again. "Here, Donald! Try again!"

Donald picked himself of the gritty courtyard, dusting himself off and muttering darkly. He re-rolled his sleeves back up to his elbows, them having slipped down when he fell. He pulled his fist back a second time, aiming this time for Panchito's chest. Again, he found his move blocked and his body being tossed to the ground, this time to the right.

"Ha! Vamos! Is that the best you can do! Vamos!"

Panchito had felt that Donald's second try had held a lot more power. Which was exactly what he wanted, but it hadn't been enough. Donald had still held back, making it fairly easy to redirect the hit. Though, not as easy as the punch before. Panchito was relieved Donald hadn't succeeded in the second attempt; as it would have caught him in his still aching chest. The bandages had been removed, and the puncture marks were healing nicely, but it was still sore. Donald and José had asked him about the white linens wrapped around his chest, but Panchito had shrugged it off as just a little accident, and left it at that.

It had been close, but not close enough. So Panchito continued to goad his friend on. "What are you, a chica*? Try ag-" _WHAM!_

The blow seemingly came out of no where, catching the rooster smack in the jaw. He stumbled back with a grunt, landing on the ground in a cloud of dust, right on his rear. Now it was his turn to be dazed, blinking owlishly as he realized what had just happened.

Donald stood over him, breathing heavily, hands clenched at his side as he glared down at the downed rooster. His angry, red-faced emotion, however, changed suddenly to one of fear and regret. "Panchito!" He quickly ran forward to assist his friend back to his feet. "I'm so sorry! I-I didn't mean to! Are you hurt?" He looked the rooster up and down, afraid that he might have done him serious harm.

Despite being a little wobbly on his feet and having a throbbing ache in his jaw, Panchito was fine. He was smiling; rubbing his beak with one hand while giving Donald's shoulder an encouraging series of pats with the other. "No, no, amigo; I am fine!" He gave a laugh, slapping Donald on the back. "Now that's what I call a punch! Tal fuerza*! That was good, Donald! Very good!" He gave another chuckle before turning to José, who was still standing to the side out harm's way. "Your turn, amigo!"

Panchito went through the very same process with José as he had with Donald. Or, at least, he tried to. José was a completely different personality than Donald. He wasn't as easy to get angry. In fact, the rooster couldn't get him angry at all. Oh, a little flustered maybe; but not angry. José was fidgety; jumpy. He would flinch back when he thought he'd be hit, something that Panchito blamed on the punches the Macaw Brothers had managed to get him with. The parrot knew what it felt like to be hit, and therefore was reacting to the thought of possibly being stuck by stumbling out of the way.

His hitting wasn't any better. He, like Donald, was afraid of hurting his friend and held back. The attacks were even weaker than Donald's had been. No manner of teasing or jeering could evoke a violent response. José just took the jibes, trying his best to avoid any form of contact. Unfortunately, despite his carefulness, Panchito managed to hit the parrot, adding a few more bruises by accident.

After several minutes of no success, the rooster held up a hand, signaling to stop. "This is not working, José."

The parrot looked embarrassed. "Sinto muito*, Panchito. I just can't seem to do it."

"Eso está bien, José. I'll think of something." The rooster stood still a moment, continuing to rub his jaw while he thought long and hard. He gazed up at the sky, taking note that the sun was already beginning to rise. The fort's courtyard was filling with even more agents. Suddenly, Panchito's eyes fell on a big, burly bear, an agent that Panchito knew quite well. Thankfully, it wasn't one of his former partners. "Hey! Recardo! Ven aca!"

The large fellow turned and lumbered toward them. Each footstep made the ground vibrate as he approached. He was enormous, taller than Panchito by nearly five feet. Donald and José backed away instinctively. "Yeah, buddy," the bear asked, his voice American, "What can I do for you?"

Panchito moved away from his team, taking Recardo with him out of ear shot of the others. They whispered for a few moments before Panchito and their new acquaintance turned to them once again. Panchito had a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Change of plans, José. Recardo here is going to attack _you_. All you have to do is keep him from hitting you while you come up with a way to knock him to the ground. Okay? Okay. GO!"

"Wait; WHAT?!"

José wanted to object to the new method, but the immense shadow of Recardo loomed over him. The bear's fist suddenly smashed into the ground with a thunderous noise, missing José only because the parrot had quickly dodged to the side. "THIS IS LOUCO*!" He dodged again, missing another oncoming fist. He kicked out with his leg, causing Recardo to wince when the parrot's foot made contact with his skin, leaving a bruise. José then scrambled to the right in order to avoid the next punch.

Panchito watched from the sidelines alongside Donald, nodding his head in satisfaction. José had needed a different type of motivation. While anger had fueled Donald's fighting style, it appeared that fear, or, at least, a strong sense of survival, was what powered José's. The motivation was different, but the result was similar.

José still didn't want to fight. He preferred the dancing pattern of ducking and weaving; but he knew it wouldn't last. He would have to strike eventually. Panchito was trying to get him to do his best. And, as of yet, José had failed to do so. Not that he wasn't trying. He just had to work himself a little more maybe. Try just a little bit harder. But that would be his last resort. First, he was going to try and talk his way out.

"Ah, Senhor*...Whoa!...Ah, you know you don't have to do this!" He jumped backward as the bear took a sideways swing at him. "He didn't tell you to actually hurt me did he?!" He sent a wide-eyed expression toward Panchito. "Did you?!"

The rooster shrugged. "What can I say, I'm a ruthless teacher."

Now, of course, Panchito had told Recardo to be very careful not to hurt José. Recardo was one of the best close combat agents the agency had ever had. Panchito knew that the bear could make his aggression look convincing, without even ever laying a finger on his friend. But Panchito couldn't tell José that. The rooster wanted to see the parrot's true strengths and weaknesses. The only way to see that, it seemed, was to make José think he was really in danger. It was kind of cruel; but it was also necessary.

When trying to reason with the big brute failed, José finally realized that this little game wasn't going to end until he did as Panchito had said. If he wanted to walk away from this without a beating, assuming that the fellow was truly going to pummel him, then he needed to at least try. With a gulp, José suddenly stopped ducking and gave the bear as good a punch as he could. If it had been Panchito, the rooster would have been floored. But this wasn't Panchito; this wasn't a small, slight rooster only a bit taller than himself. This was a six foot bear with fists the size of barrels. And the parrot realized too late that one of those 'barrels' was headed for his shoulder.

The force of Recardo's blow knocked him down and sent him rolling a few feet across the ground.

Panchito stepped forward to protest. He knew by Recardo's face that the hit had been an accident, but that was beside the point. A knock like that _had_ to of hurt. José was just lucky that it was his shoulder and not something more vulnerable, like his head. Panchito was about to step between them and stop the fight when, amazingly, José was back on his feet.

The parrot was rubbing his arm ruefully, but seemed unharmed otherwise. He came back to Recardo, posed and ready to continue; a look of determination on his face. "Venha!"

Recardo sent Panchito a questioning glance, but when no objection came, he starting swinging his fists once more. José began to duck and weave, just as he had done before. Only this time there was a definite pattern to his movements. Every time he dodged, he dodged to the right, taking a step backward as he did. His retreat forced Recardo to step forward in order to give chase. And so it continued. José always ducking, and Recardo always following. They did so until they had moved halfway across the courtyard. By now, other agents had taken notice of the vigorous training exercise and a small crowd had gathered to watch. They called encouragements to both the bear and the parrot, cheering them on in their fight; but José didn't notice. He was too busy concentrating.

Finally, the two reached the spot José had carefully, and secretly, been trying to reach. They were now right beside the well, José nearly pressed up against it while he continued to duck and dodge. He just had to wait for the right moment...there!

Recardo shot a fist straight out, aiming for the parrot's chest. José took his chance. As the force of the punch sent Recardo stepping forward, José suddenly dropped to the ground and rolled right into the bear's legs, just as José had seen Panchito do in Brazil. With a very _real_ cry of _real_ surprise, Recardo stumbled over the bird, landing head and shoulders first into the well. He was for too big to fall _into_ the well, but the opening was big enough for his upper half. Recardo was left wedged top first in the well's shaft, legs kicking in the air.

A wild cheer went up from the bystanders as José wearily made it to his feet, backing away from the well as though he though Recardo would jump back up at any moment. Then he felt someone shaking his hand vigorously. Finally coming out of his daze he found it was Panchito.

"Increíble, José! That was amazing!" the rooster practically yelped in joy. "Your strength is not fighting with your fists; it is fighting with your wit!" He tapped a finger to José's head as if to prove his point.

Despite his obvious need of a breather, José gave Panchito a mischievous smile. "This is no common government agency is it?"

Donald seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

Panchito returned the smile. "No."

"That's what I thought. No matter, Panchito. Lead on."

And so, after rescuing Recardo from the well and making sure there were no hard feelings, Panchito and his friends continued training. By now they had attracted quite a group of followers. Agents who had nothing better to do at the moment, watched as Panchito put his friends through test after test and training exercise after training exercise. They cheered for their new co-workers as each showed strengths in different areas; sometimes in surprising ways.

When Panchito gave them a crash course in pistol shooting, Donald had failed miserably. He had been very eager to hold the weapon in his hands; so much so that he wasn't as careful as he should have been. The gun went off twice, flailing about in the duck's hand, before Panchito could get a hold of it. Panchito then tried to show Donald how to properly hold the pistol and how to fire it safely. Donald did well, gaining a much gentler and more careful way with the weapon. But when he tried to shoot, he missed the target terribly. Repeatedly. The frustration that came as a result caused Donald to throw the pistol to the ground in a fit of rage. The gun went of, firing a shot that bounced off a number of objects before hitting the target dead in the center.

Panchito shrugged, saying that it was the most unusual method of sharpshooting he had ever scene. "Maybe you had better leave the pistolas* to me, Donald."

However, everyone was surprised when it was José's turn to give the guns a try. While Panchito carefully talked through the process, José was inspecting the guns with a curious gaze. Suddenly, and without warning, the parrot all at once straightened and fired, causing everyone in the area to jump. But there was no need for worry. José hit the target right in the center. Panchito was left speechless, and insisted that José fire two more times. Each time José hit dead center.

Panchito gave a long whistle and shook his head in awe. He gave the parrot a grin. "Son of mi gun, José! You have a very good eye! Are you sure you have never fired a pistola before?"

The parrot insisted that he had not. He had simply figured it out. Panchito gave a laugh and a cheer went up again for the two new recruits, who were turning out to be quite the talented duo. Training went on for the rest of the day. José and Donald made friends with all the agents, and by evening, were officially a part of the working family of Fort Cawfod.

As the sky began to turn a pleasant pink hue, and everyone was heading back to their bunks for the night, Corporal Wiggs, the crow, suddenly ran up, out of breath, to Panchito. "Colonel Hawkins wishes to see you, Mister Pistoles," he said politely. He nodded to José and Donald. "Your partners too. He says it's urgent."

"Gracias, Wiggs," Panchito replied, motioning for his colleagues to follow. "We'll head right over."

The Corporal looked relieved, turning and marching stiffly back to whatever job he was assigned. Panchito, Donald, and José made their way over to the headquarters building. Hawkins met them just inside the door.

"What is it, Señor," Panchito asked as Hawkins began to lead them swiftly through the hall to his office.

"Trouble." Hawkins ushered the three into the room before shutting the door and moving to his seat behind his desk. He fixed Panchito with a look that radiated a mix of anxiety and anger. What the first emotion was about, and whether the second was directed towards him, Panchito wasn't sure. "Remember those birds that attacked you last week, Pistoles?"

Donald and José sent shocked glances toward their friend, but Panchito ignored them. "Sí."

"And the big fellow; the leader?"

Panchito absently rubbed his chest. "Sí, the grande* vulture."

"Well," Hawkins sighed in frustration, "They're back. Oh, and that big fellow, he's not a vulture."

"He's not?"

"No. He's a condor. That explains his size. His real name's Eloy Pérez, though his gang calls him the Vulture, oddly enough. Guess it's because he's the leader of a ring of those foul birds. They've been terrorizing towns all over the map."

Panchito suddenly had a very nasty feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. "What's happened, Señor Hawkins?"

The Colonel looked very reluctant to say. "Three of our agents were captured today by his gang and brought to Pérez himself. They released one of them, after roughing him up a bit, and sent him back with this." He handed Panchito an wrinkled and stained piece of paper. Donald and José gathered around as Panchito read the ominous words aloud.

_'Saludos USM Border agents,_

_By now you are aware of the poor innocent men that I now hold in my murderous claws. I'm sure the thought has upset you greatly. But never fear, mis rivales*, I have but one small request that, once met will solve all your problems...and mine. If you want your precious agents back alive you will do as I command._

_You must send your special agente*, Señor Panchito Pistoles to Courtner Creek by tomorrow noon. I will release the hostages if he does so. If not, I will kill your agents at the stroke of one. I hear Pistoles has new partners. Well, they're welcome to come as well. Any friend of my enemy, is my enemy, after all. In fact, I insist they come. But no one else. If any other agents show up, the hostages will be killed. You have no choice Colonel. Don't disappoint me._

_Sighed,_

_The Vulture_

Silence reigned in the office as the words sank darkly into all their minds. Images of the hostages in the hands of such a terrible fiend ran through their brains, scaring José and Donald, but even more so Panchito. He knew what The Vulture was capable of, and it frightened him to think what could happen, whether they went or stayed.

"Those poor men," José moaned softly.

Colonel Hawkins looked up at the parrot, a look of true sympathy showing on his face. "Poor indeed. And they're not the only ones. There are reports of missing persons from numerous places; all towns that the vultures have attacked recently. We can only assume they are being held prisoner as well. But I'm just as worried for you three." He turned his gaze back to the rooster. "Panchito, we have no choice. It's probably a trap-"

"It's definitely a trap."

"But we can't just stand by and do nothing," Hawkins finished. "I'm going to have to send you. Donald, José, I hear you two did very well in training today; that's encouraging. Hopefully, it will be enough." He noticed the look on the rooster's face. "I don't like this any more than you do, Panchito. But our hands our tied. You three are now on active duty; effective immediately." He gave a sad salute. "Dismissed."

Panchito gave a quick salute, his partners following his example before the three turned and left to go ready themselves for departure. Hawkins watched them go before sinking slowly into his chair. He was extremely distraught over the turn of events. It was like a nightmare; one that no matter how hard he tried he couldn't wake himself up. Because he was already awake. And, as he sat in his quiet, safe office, one sentence kept running through his head, over and over.

_They're not ready for this._

**...**

***Despierta, mis amigos! = Wake up, my friends! (Spanish)**

***Arriba! = Up! (Spanish)**

*******Atacarme = Attack me (Spanish)**

***V****amos = Come on (Spanish)**

***Chica = Girl**

***Tal fuerza! = Such strength! (Spanish)**

***Sinto muito = I'm sorry (Portuguese)**

***Eso está bien = That's alright (Spainish)**

***Ven aca! = Come here!**

***Louco = Crazy (Portuguese)**

***Senhor = Mister (Portuguese)**

*******Venha! = Come on!**

***Pistolas = Guns (Spanish)**

***G****rande = Big (Spanish)**

***Mis rivales = My rivals (Spanish)**

***Agente = Agent**

**Alright! Now the actions starting up! So excited! Let me know what you think in the REVIEWS! THANKS!**


	8. Mistakes

Once again José found himself riding behind his friends on Señor Martinez's back. Once again they were braving the great deserted expanse of endless sand. And once again it was taking a _very_ long time. The only difference was that this time the sun's rays were not beating down on them. The heat of the day had been replaced by the cool of night. The moon glowed in the sky, bathing the scenery in a calm, soothing, blue light. It sparkled against the chips of mica distributed throughout the sand, giving it an almost magical look. Like fresh fallen snow on Christmas morning.

The three had left Fort Cawford only a half hour after their meeting with Colonel Hawkins. They had wanted to start out at once, since Panchito said that it would take them all night to reach the abandoned town of Courtner Creek. They'd arrive there by morning, if all went well. They couldn't afford to be any later than that. The lives of two agents and an unknown number of people were depending on them. There was no room for error.

"Who are these guys, anyway?" Donald asked, his voice sounding oddly loud in the quiet of night. The question was sudden, having proceeded no conversation to which the duck was referring, but the Panchito knew he was referring to the Vulture and his gang.

"Some amigos I made last week," he replied. "They didn't take to me very well. Nor I to them."

José laughed nervously from the back. "I can imagine."

Panchito decided to come clean with the whole story. After all, Donald and José could handle it. "I was trailing some banditos who we had been watching for quite some time. I made a mistake in judgement, and I got caught in a fight."

There was a pause.

"You didn't win that fight, did you?" The question came from Donald. His voice was very soft, as if he were almost afraid to ask.

Panchito's face turned a little paler. His mind flashed back to him being pressed up against cold brick, long, cruel claws gripping him painfully. He remembered his fear. He had not felt that frightened for a long time. "No."

"Is that why your chest was bandaged?" José asked, voice tinged with just a hint of annoyance. "I thought you said it was because of an accident."

"It _was_ an accident. I didn't do what I should have done, and I got hurt." He shrugged, then regained some of his normal cheer, but it was more fake than real. "But they let me go free. The Vulture said he wanted to get to know me better before he killed me." Panchito laughed, which, somehow, made Donald and José even more nervous. But, no te preocupes*, mis amigos. He cannot defeat the combined forces of the Three Caballeros!" And with that said, the subject was dropped. There was no use dwelling on the past; not when they needed to concentrate on the future. What the next day would bring.

The night passed slowly. Even more slowly then their first trip through the desert had felt. They were headed steadily East, the large moon always guiding their path. The gentle rocking of Señor Martinez, mixed with the soothing sound of hooves against sand, became a problem for Donald and José. Having been kept on their toes since their arrival at Fort Cawford, both birds were exhausted. They began to blink, their eyes staying shut longer each time. Before long, they shut completely.

Panchito became aware of their plight when a firm pressure pressed against his back. Looking over his shoulder, the rooster was surprised to find that both his companions were sound asleep, slumped forward; José against Donald, and Donald against him. Panchito smiled fondly, deciding to let them rest while they could. He knew they'd need they're strength.

Panchito's smile faded at that thought.

...

Panchito woke his friends as the first signs of Courtner Creek became visible on the horizon. It was a small town; one of those out-of-the-way type places. The kind where the only visitors the inhabitants ever get are people who have gotten hopelessly lost. Even from afar it was obviously abandoned. Broken fences, deserted wagons, and other age old litter paved a path toward the buildings themselves. The structures looked foreboding, silhouetted against the red of the rising sun like ominous shadows.

"There it is," Panchito declared. Already he could feel his heart speeding up at the prospect of a good fight. His wild, reckless nature was trying to force its way to the surface, but he managed to push it down for the time being. He could practically hear Hawkins in his head, warning him to 'slow down' and 'be careful'.

His companions roused themselves, blinking in confusion until they remembered where they were. It is rather disorienting to awaken on the back of a horse in the wide expanse of a desert. Yawning, they rubbed the sleep from their eyes, feeling slightly embarrassed at having fallen asleep. But the ache of exhaustion had left their joints, and they felt they had much more energy.

As they drew nearer, Donald and José got a better look at the forgotten village, taking in its dusty streets and buildings that all leaned dangerously. It didn't look at all inviting. It was a ghost town, inhabited only by lizards, maybe a few snakes, and a large population of tumbleweeds. A strong wind picked up, carrying choking clouds of dust off the broken-down roofs and blew it toward the travelers.

The town wasn't any more impressive up close. As Panchito urged Señor Martinez onto the main street, they were able to get a view of the old shops, houses, and what was left of a saloon. Their state of decay seemed to tell a sad tale; a mystery of some long-dead life. It gave one a creepy feeling. Like standing in the tomb of an Egyptian king. Empty, but threatening nonetheless.

"What happened here?" José asked. A shiver ran up his spin despite himself and he gripped the saddle a little tighter.

"It was overrun by banditos," Panchito explained, though he seemed focused more on their surroundings by this point. The other two noticed he was more tense than he had been; sitting stiff in the saddle and glancing from side to side. He reminded them of a skittish deer standing in a lonely meadow. As if at any moment a hunter might jump out and shoot him. And they realized with unease, that that was a very accurate analogy.

"It happens sometimes," Panchito continued, still keeping watch. "Banditos choose a town off in the middle of nowhere as a hideout. Before you can say Alejo es su tío*, their gangs have set up quarters there too. The good, sensible people leave, while the villanos stay. Then you've got an entire town of banditos. But evil tends to thrive by cheating and crippling the good. And so, over time, they all leave in search of poor souls to take advantage. What is left is an old, broken-down place like this one."

"Is that how all ghost towns are made?" Donald inquired.

"No. But in this town's case, it is." Panchito lapsed into silence after that, and the others sensed that they should be quiet as well.

That silence became deafening very quickly. It made one want to run through the streets, yelling at the top of one's lungs, just so there was _some_ noise to be heard. But they knew they couldn't do that. Somewhere, hidden within all the debris and decaying homes, there was a gang of villainous vultures. But the maddening question was...where?

Panchito steered Señor Martinez up alongside the empty saloon. Jumping down, the rooster loosely tied his horse to a nearby post while Donald and José dismounted. They all felt uneasy; as if they were being watched. Panchito drew both his pistols, cocking them as he took a few, slow steps forward. Donald and José followed his example, drawing the single pistols that Panchito had supplied them with before leaving Fort Cawford. They moved behind Panchito, stepping forward when he stepped forward and pausing when he paused.

Panchito had the eyes of a hawk, despite the fact that he was a rooster. He had excellent vision and an accurate eye. It had saved his life on more occasions than he could count, and he used it now to scan the motionless street. It was going on in the day; late morning now. The Vulture _had_ to be here. He had to be watching from somewhere. But they were hidden; concealed out of sight. It made the rooster antsy. The suspense was making him nervous and uncertain. He didn't like it. He had always been the type to address a problem directly. If they were supposed to have a confrontation, well, why not get right to it? There was no need for sneaking around. The gang surely knew they were there, just as Panchito knew that the gang was also nearby. He just needed some way to draw them out...

Without thinking of the consequences, Panchito suddenly lifted one of his pistols and fired a bullet into the air. The shot was loud and unexpected, causing Donald and José to jump in surprise. But they weren't the only ones. Just as Panchito expected, the rooster spotted a sudden movement from within the old saloon; a jolt of shock that gave away the lackey's position. Without a second thought, Panchito fired a shot toward the villain's direction.

After that, everything happened so fast it made Donald and José's heads spin. From all around them, vultures of various sizes left their hiding places to join the fight. They had been so well concealed, and had emerged so quickly, that none of the agents even saw from where the had come. There was just enough time to see that there were four of them before the birds were upon them.

Panchito gave a whoop of excitement; all the caution that Hawkins had instilled into his brain leaving immediately. It was just Panchito, his pistols, and the banditos. Diving behind several old sacks of grain on the wayside, Panchito started firing with a will, forcing the enemy to take a stand on the other side of the street. Luckily, Donald and José had been quick to follow their friend, and were well out of the way by the time the lead began to fly.

Donald tried his best to aim correctly, peeking out from the barrel he had taken refuge behind when he could; to try and get a hit. But one of the foul birds across from him seemed to have his eye specifically on Donald's position. Every time he tried to get a in a shot, he had to move back as bullets hit and splintered the wood. The barrel, filled with water, began to leak, pooling it's contents out into the dusty street.

José was in no better a position. He had been a little slower than Donald to find a safe place to shield himself. In his surprise and sudden panic, he had run the opposite way. He had still ended up on the same side of the street as his friends, but a good twenty feet away from them. He too was covered by an enemy pistol, but he still managed to get a few shots. His aim was true; hitting one vulture in the lower arm.

Panchito was in his element. This was why he loved being an agent! The adventure! The thrill of getting out there; good against evil! Not that he wanted to _kill_ anyone, or anything morbid like that. In fact, he always made it a point to bring the villains back to Fort Cawford alive. They were supposed to be imprisoned for their dastardly deeds. That was justice. That was what being an agent was all about. Saving those who needed saving and serving out justice where justice was due. It was a life he treasured dearly. He wouldn't want to give it up for anything else in the world.

Sortly after the shootout started, Panchito began to come back to himself. He suddenly remembered, as he often forgot, that this wasn't just a game. These were _real_ bullets. He was in _real_ danger. Hawkins words slowly drifted back into his mind, and he all at once remembered that he wasn't alone in this fight. Not this time.

Ducking behind the sacks of grain, he took a quick glance to his right. Down the boardwalk, about seven feet from him, Panchito spotted Donald. The white duck seemed to be holding his own, though he did look a little frustrated. But that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. After all, Donald seemed to always fight his best when he was angry. And the red tinge to the his friend's face was certainly evidence that Donald _was_ angry.

Chuckling, Panchito craned his neck, trying to spot José...But he couldn't find him; not behind Donald anyway, no matter how much he strained to look. He quickly turned his head to the left, a panic starting to form in his chest. There was no sigh of the parrot in that direction either. But Panchito was _sure_ that José had made it to cover, as he had seen no sign of him on the street. But in all the gunfire, was it possible that he had...Wait. What had happened to the gunfire? The air was no longer filled with the echoing discharging shots of pistols; nor with the yells and cries of their adversaries. Panchito was about to take a peek over the sacks to see what had happened, when a terribly familiar voice broke the silence. A voice that ended some words with a sharp, clicking sound.

"Agent Pistoles; I think it would be wise for you to surrender." The voice was unmistakable. It was the Vulture himself.

Normally, Panchito would have shouted some kind of insult at the bird. He would have fought until his last bullet had been shot; and then some. But a sudden horror had risen in his mind. A fear that made his hands start to shake in anxiety. If his guess was right...things were going to get very bad, very quickly. Raising to his feet, the rooster slowly revealed himself to his enemy, Donald watching in confusing but following his friend's example. Both agents felt their hearts skip a beat at the sight that stood before them.

Halfway across the street, in the middle of the dusty road, stood the largest bird Donald had ever seen. He was enormous. His beak was curved and sharp, sloping upward to his bald, wrinkled head. His eyes were dark, glistening orbs, that matched perfectly with the dark plumage that he sported. His size was much larger than the vultures, reminding the agents that this bird was actually a condor. A fierce, murderous villain who they had been sent to stop at all costs.

Panchito gaped in awe, despite himself, at the pure size of the monster. When the rooster had been attacked that night a week ago, it had been dark, and he hadn't been able to see his captor clearly. Now, in the full glow of the late morning sun, Panchito found that he was just as huge, ugly and frightening as the rooster had imagined. But that was not what caused Panchito's stomach to turn. It was the small, green parrot, whose arm the condor's sharp claws were gripping tightly...José.

The Brazilian appeared to be deeply distressed. The claws were digging into the sleeve of his pale, yellow jacket, making it a painful experience whenever he tried to pull away. The sharp tips were like needles, and if he pulled too hard, they started to pierce his wrist. It didn't help that the 'Vulture' was holding him a little bit higher than José could reach without being up on tiptoe. The position looked most uncomfortable.

"Let him go!" Panchito shouted, pointing his pistol straight at the leader's heart. He didn't care if he killed the monster; forget justice! He just wanted to get José away from those terrible claws!

The Vulture chuckled darkly, giving José's arm a sudden, hard jolt. The parrot gave a cry of pain as he was lifted clear off the ground, the claws digging deeper into his arm as a result. He would have yelled something at his captor, either in anger or pain, but he suddenly found that there was another set of talons pressed dangerously against his throat. He wisely chose to remain silent, deciding instead to focus on breathing evenly. His shoulder hurt terribly, causing his whole right arm to flare up in agony.

"Kill me, and I'll take your little friend to my grave." The Vulture pressed a little harder, producing another gasp from his prisoner. The words were chilling, and nobody doubted his threat. "Throw down your weapons." He glanced to Donald. "Both of you."

Panchito gave the condor a hateful glare as he reluctantly lowered his pistols. He sent Donald an apologetic look, indicating the duck to do as he was told. Donald hesitated, but one look at José changed his mind.

Both birds let their guns fall to the dusty roadside.

The Vulture gave another chuckle. "There, you see; that wasn't so hard." He retracted his claws, letting José fall roughly to the ground. The parrot remained on his knees, gripping his right arm and gasping in pain.

Panchito moved forward carefully, Donald following close behind him. They held their hands over their heads, covered by the guns of all four of the Vulture's lackeys. They were marched up to stand in front of the giant bird, who smirked down at them in triumph.

"That was a lot easier than I anticipated," he clacked, grinning all the while. The expression curled his beak in an unflattering manner, making him appear even more ugly. He shifted his gaze to meet Panchito's angry one. "I was hoping you would show up, Pequeño." He bent down so that his beak was only inches from Panchito's face. "I have special plans for you." He gave another low, intimidating chuckle before turning to his vultures. "Lock them up!" He gave Panchito one more smirk before turning his back and walking into the abandoned saloon, leaving his lackeys to carry out their orders.

José was forced roughly to his feet, and the three friends were herded toward one of the abandoned barns. Panchito and Donald tried to help their friend the best they could, supporting him as he stumbled and tripped along. Panchito was filled with an overwhelming sense of guilt. This was all his fault. If he had done as Hawkins had told him; slowed down and had been careful, none of this would have happened. They wouldn't be weaponless in the clutches of an evil condor. They wouldn't be facing what would probably be a horrible death...And if it weren't for him, José wouldn't have gotten hurt. They'd all be safe. They would have won...But they had failed.

And it was all Panchito's fault.

**...**

***N****o te preocupes = Don't worry**

*******Alejo es su tío = Alejo is your uncle**

**There we go, another chapter! Oooo, things are getting intense!**

**PLEASE REVIEW! THANKS!**


	9. Darkness

Panchito, Donald, and José were forced roughly toward the only sturdy-looking building in Courtner Creek; a small barn at the end of the street. Unlike the other structures, the barn appeared to be well patched up, with no holes or rotting boards. Which was bad, since that meant there was no easy escape once they were inside. Its walls were made of solid, thick, gray wood, not the brittle, brown wood that the rest of the town seemed to be built. The barn was very small, more of a storehouse than a stable for livestock. But what did that matter? After all, as long as it imprisoned the three agents, it had served its purpose for the vultures and their cruel leader.

With a final shove, the four lackey's pushed Panchito and Donald inside, José held between them. The parrot let out another gasp as the jolt sent tendrils of pain running up and down his right arm. His knees buckled, and his friends ended up having to support his weight completely. Luckily, José was pretty light, being just a bit smaller than either of his companions. The barn door was slammed shut, and a loud click filled their ears as it was securely locked from the outside.

Panchito shot a hateful glare toward the door, as if doing so would burn a hole right through it. But, of course, that didn't help in the least. They were trapped in this wooden prison until that door next opened, which might not be for some time. He would worry about that later. He had other things to take care of at the moment. Inching José forward, he and Donald managed to move further into the dark barn. It was almost completely empty. At least, it had looked so in the few moments they had been able to see it in the light. But now, with the door shut, they could barely see. The feeling and sound of soft hay beneath their feet was all they really needed to know and they took advantage of the small comfort. Carefully, they eased José to the floor, setting him on the straw to make him as comfortable as they could under the circumstances.

Panchito knelt down beside his friend, trying to asses the damage that had been done. José was awake, thankfully conscious, but he was obviously in a lot of pain. Panchito tried to see the injury through the darkness, but the light was so weak he couldn't see his own hand in front of his face. "Galletas*!" he hissed, "I cannot see well enough; it is too dark!" He was beginning to feel a bubble of anger rising to the surface of his emotions. But it wasn't anger toward their captors; it was anger toward himself. His guilt was slowly growing into self-blame; an endless cycle of thoughts that consisted of 'what if's and 'should have done's. This was all his fault, and he knew it. Hawkins had warned him that this could happen; told him he needed to be more careful. And the rooster had gone off and gotten himself in a fix once again...Only this time it wasn't just his life that was on the line, but also his friends'.

Panchito shook his head to try and clear his thoughts, focusing his attention on José. He couldn't quite see his friend in the barely existent light, but he could hear him. The parrot was breathing heavily, trying to deal with whatever pain he was enduring. Panchito felt his heart sink. Reaching forward gently and laying a hand on José's uninjured arm, he attempted to get his friend's attention. "José? José, listen...Where are you hurt?" Panchito was no doctor, but he was somewhat an expert on non-serious injuries. He had hurt himself by accident in almost every case he had ever been put on. He had come to expect it. But he hadn't expected to have to deal with one of his best friends getting hurt.

"M-my...sh-shoulder," the parrot panted between gasps. He was still clutching his right arm with his left, trying to still the feeling of agony that continued to flow through it. "I th-think...it is...des-deslocado*."

_Dislocated._ Well, that wasn't good, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. It would have been worse if it had been broken. Panchito was pretty sure he knew how to fix a dislocated shoulder. He had suffered a similar injury a few years back. Dr. Johnson had shown him how to tend the injury and get his shoulder back in place. It had been a thoroughly unpleasant experience, but easy to correct. Panchito was positive he could duplicate the trick. But he was going to need help.

"Donald, we're going to have to relocate José's arm." Panchito couldn't see the duck, but he could feel him at his back. He hadn't moved more than two feet from the rooster since their surrender. He heard Donald move closer.

"What do you want me to do?" the American's voice sounded close beside him. It was strained with worry, and Panchito once again felt a twinge of guilt for thrusting his closest friends into such peril.

The rooster positioned himself so that he was parallel to José's injured arm. He knew that what they were about to do wouldn't be pleasant for their Brazilian companion, but they couldn't leave José like this. The longer the parrot's shoulder was injured, the more pain it would cause. It needed to be fixed as soon as they could find the right position in the dark to complete the task.

Panchito carefully laid a hand against José's back. The Brazilian was shaking, most likely from the waves of agony he was experiencing. He jumped slightly at the rooster's touch, which only made him moan. "José?" Panchito wasn't even sure whether José could hear him. "We're going to try and help you, mi amigo. It might hurt a little, but once I relocate your shoulder the pain will cease...But I will have to hold your arm." That elicited yet another moan from his friend. "It's the only way," Panchito urged gently. He knew he'd have to go through with it whether he had José's permission or not. But, somehow, he felt it was the right thing to do. José was hurting badly, and he was frightened. Maybe if the rooster explained it to him, it would ease the parrot's anxiety. "It's a quick process...All I will do is shift the bone and get it back in its socket." He wasn't sure if that was helpful. It turned his own stomach actually, making him reluctant to proceed.

The parrot's voice came shakily to his ears through the inky blackness. "G-go...a-ahead..."

"Alright, Donald," Panchito said carefully. He wanted to get right down to it. If they stalled for too long, José might think better of his decision. "I need you to help keep him steady, just until I get his shoulder back in place."

Donald nodded dutifully, even though it was too dark for anyone to see it. He slowly shifted so that he was behind José, allowing the parrot to lean against him. Just as Panchito had been, Donald left deeply concerned when he noticed how bad José was trembling. It made him all the more resolved to help his friend, and he carefully attempted to sit José a little higher so that Panchito could do what had to be done as soon as possible.

Panchito gently removed his hand from José's back. He paused, glancing through the dark where he assumed his friend's face was located. "You ready?"

"R-read...dy..."

"Muy bien*..." The rooster gently took hold of José's injured arm; his right hand gripping the parrot's wrist and his left hand José's elbow. The Brazilian let out a gasp and resisted for a moment, holding his arm pressed against his stomach. He only did so for a second, however, and quickly got a hold of himself, and let Panchito take full possession of his agonizing limb.

"Alright," the rooster said calmly, "I'm going to shift your arm. Try not to move." Holding José's upper arm against the parrot's side, Panchito slowly guided his friend's lower arm outward.

Donald felt José tense up immediately. The slightly smaller bird tried to inch back and away, but Donald reluctantly held him still. He felt terrible about forcibly keeping José from moving, but if it had to be done, it had to be done. He still felt bad about it though.

José tried not to cry out as the muscles in his shoulder stretched painfully. He couldn't see his friends, but he could feel them, and it comforted him even now. He could feel Donald firmly supporting his back, trying to keep him from moving and hurting himself further. He could feel Panchito's hands steadily gripping his arm and, though it hurt, José was glad it was Panchito doing the procedure. Panchito was strong and not easily rattled. He'd probably seen injuries far more serious than a dislocated shoulder before. Between the two birds, José was in good hands, and he was glad that both Donald and Panchito were there to help him.

Panchito was concentrating very hard. Since he couldn't see, he had to rely on his other senses. As he gently continued to shift the limb, he made sure to listen carefully for any sounds of grinding or feelings of resistance. This wasn't something that could be fixed by force. The bone had to slide into place of its own will. He could feel the tenseness of the muscles under his finger tips, and he started talking softly in an attempt to keep José calm, despite the parrot's obvious discomfort.

All at once there was a sudden shift in the bone alignment, and an audible _pop!_ was heard. José gave a yelp, more of surprise than pain. Then, quite abruptly, the parrot went limp against Donald's hold.

"José? José!" Panchito feared he had performed the procedure incorrectly and that his friend had fallen unconscious. But just when he was about to panic, José's soft voice pierced the quiet.

"Th-that's much better...O-obrigado*..." The parrot was still breathing heavily, but the look of agony had left his face. Though neither of his friends could see it, they _could_ hear it in his voice.

Panchito was still concerned, however. When the rooster had released the Brazilian's wrist, Panchito's hand had come away with something wet and sticky smeared on his fingers. "José, you're bleeding!" he cried. He sensed rather than saw José tenderly lift his relocated arm to inspect it. But of course, he couldn't see it.

"His claws got me," he stated, too exhausted to show much worry over the injury. "When he...pulled my arm out of the socket."

"How bad?"

"Not too bad, eu não acho*."

Panchito frowned. He reached forward, gently taking José's wrist again, wishing desperately for some sort of light to see by. He heard José give a hiss of pain as his fingers traced over the very recognizable puncture marks. Again the rooster felt the warm sensation of blood against his touch. It wasn't a lot, at least not dangerously so, but it was far more than Panchito liked. "We'll have to bandage it," he said worriedly. The sound of ripping fabric was heard as the rooster tore a strip of his own jacket. He carefully started wrapping the material around the wound, mindful not to wind it too tightly.

"What are you doing?" José asked.

"Binding it to keep it clean from infection," Panchito replied, continuing his ministrations. He sighed sadly. "I'm sorry about all this, amigos...This is all my fault..."

"That's not true!" Donald declared, still kneeling behind José. "You didn't know this would h-"

"But I should have!" Panchito's voice rose unexpectedly in pitch, startling his friends in the darkness. It was full of anger, not toward them, and not even toward the Vulture...but anger toward himself. Panchito finished wrapping the parrot's wrist, then stood and moved away from his partners. "I should have know...It always happens..." His voice was whispered; sounding pained.

"What do you mean?" José tried to peer through the dark to see his friend, but couldn't.

"Colonel Hawkins has been trying to match me up with a partner for years...But people always get hurt when they work with me. I'm not careful enough...Hawkins gave me one more chance to show I could work as a team...I-I panicked. I was so afraid that I'd be told to leave the service that...that I was willing to come and get you involved in a fight that wasn't yours...I failed him...I've failed you..." Panchito's voice had grown softer as he had spoken, until, finally, it faded to silence.

Donald and José felt their hearts go out to their friend. They didn't blame any of this on Panchito; not one bit. They might not have known the details of this "special" branch of government, but they had truly wanted to come. Sure, things hadn't gone exactly according to plan, but they were still alive. That was what was important. And they had become a team again! That had been something that Donald and José hadn't even dared to hope for the past few years! Panchito had brought them back together again, and that was worth a thousand perils...But how could they get Panchito to see that? Their Mexican friend's voice had sounded so empty; hopeless.

Panchito was giving up.

Before anything else could be said, a loud, metallic _click_ broke the silence and the barn door was thrown open. The sudden daylight momentarily blinded them, as two of the Vulture's henchmen entered the structure, looking anything but friendly. They glared around the interior of the wooden prison, taking in José and Donald sitting on the hay-covered floor before their eyes came to rest on Panchito standing a short distance from them.

"Usted*!" one called loudly, pointing at the rooster menacingly. "Ven con nosotros*!"

Panchito stayed were he was. He knew perfectly well what they had said, but he ignored it. He gave the pair a steady, defiant stare; arms crossed over his chest and feet firmly planted as if daring them to just try and _make_ him move.

The two villains, however, were not about to be deterred. With a strength Panchito had not expected, the two lackeys grabbed him roughly by the arms, forcing his limbs behind his back. His wrists were tied tightly before he could do a thing about it. Then they started to haul him toward the exit, Panchito kicking and struggling all the way.

Donald sprang to his feet, rolling up his sleeve meaningfully as he stepped toward their captors. "Hey! What do you think you're do-!" He froze abruptly as a loaded pistol was suddenly thrust inches from his bill. The shiny, silver gun appeared very large so close to his face, making the duck gulp nervously.

Panchito saw what was happening and stopped struggling. He realized that Donald and José would get seriously hurt if he didn't cooperate. It was him the Vulture was really after...He'd never forgive himself if something happened to his friends because of him. It was, after all, all his fault. Again the rooster felt self-blame and hopelessness engulf him. He didn't deserve to have such kind, loyal friends. He suddenly didn't care what happened to him, as long as Donald and José were safe. Speaking up quickly, Panchito shouted out in the rouges', and his own, native tongue. "Deténgase! No hagáis daño a ellos! Yo iré contigo sin luchar!*" To his friends he added quickly, "It's alright, amigos!...I'll...I'll go."

The vulture with the pistol turned to him with a grin that made Panchito uncomfortable. As though that had been their plan all along; to get him to surrender completely. The ugly bird lowered the weapon and rejoined his companion in escorting their prisoner outside. This time the rooster didn't give them any resistance.

Panchito saw the distress and fear on his friends' faces as they began to shut the large wooden doors again. He wanted to reassure them that everything was going to be fine. That, somehow, nothing bad was going to happen...But for once in his life, Panchito wasn't sure of that...He wasn't sure of anything...

The rooster managed a sad smile and met the gaze of both of his partners before the door was slammed shut, and the loud _klank_ of the lock being put back in place filled their ears. Donald and José were once again plunged into darkness. Once again they felt the blackness close in on them, robbing them of all sight, just as before...

Only, this time, there was just the two of them, instead of three.

**...**

***Galletas! = Crackers! or Cookies! (Spanish) I needed an harmless exclamation for him to use, and I was NOT going to use a swear word. :)**

***Deslocado = Dislocated (Portuguese)**

***Muy bien = Very well (Spanish)**

***Eu não acho = I do not think (Portuguese)**

*******Usted! = You! (Spanish)**

***Ven con nosotros! = Come with us! (Spanish)**

*******Deténgase! No hagáis daño a ellos! Yo iré contigo sin luchar! = Stop! Do not harm them! I'll go with you without a fight! (Spanish)**

*******Obrigado = Thank you (Portuguese)**

**There we go! Yet another chapter of our poor heroes plight. :) **


	10. Truth Hurts

José and Donald sat alone in the dark interior of the barn. They felt hopeless and frightened; useless in their trapped state. Panchito had been taken from them and brought...they weren't even sure where. But wherever it was, the two friends were certain it couldn't be good. If what the Vulture had done to José was any indication of what was to come, things were looking pretty bleak...Especially for Panchito.

Exactly why the Vulture was so focused on their friend was still a mystery, but they had a bad feeling that Panchito was in some serious trouble. The thought made them further depressed and worried. What did the Vulture want with Panchito? There had to be some reason. Villains weren't in the habit of just choosing an archenemy like one might shop for groceries. There had to be more to the story; and Donald and José were quite certain that even Panchito didn't know what it was.

"What do you think they'll do to him?" Donald asked in a small voice. The duck had found his way back to the parrot's side, even in the darkness. He wanted to stay close to his friend, feeling that if he were left alone he would fall into a despair he wouldn't be able to escape.

"I...I don't know," José answered. He was feeling very uncertain. His arm was still aching, though it wasn't the tearing agony of before. His wrist stung, due to the puncture marks that resided there; a terrible reminder of the Vulture's deadly intent. In the inky blackness, José could feel the fabric of Panchito's jacket wrapped around his injured limb, and his heart sank further. He was starting to regret having joined his friend in Mexico. Not because _he_ was in danger. Heaven knew that wasn't the reason. But if Panchito hadn't brought him along, they wouldn't have gotten caught. That had been José's fault.

He had been too far away from his partners during the shootout. It had made him a target. An _easy_ target. Being separate had singled him out. He hadn't even seen the Vulture come up behind him until he had felt the sharp claws wrap around his wrist. It had frightened him terribly. He hadn't even tried to resist; he had been too shocked. Oh, why had Panchito even considered him a partner? He was useless. He couldn't fight. Sure, he could fire a pistol quite accurately, but where had that gotten him? Nowhere. Where had it gotten his friends? In deadly peril.

"This is all my fault," he whispered.

Donald turned in his direction. "Now, don't you start that too!" He cried out, truly frightened. The last friend of his who had spoken those words had submitted to being dragged away by their enemies. He didn't think he could handle another friend surrendering to their depressive states. "This isn't anyone's fault. Not yours; not Panchito's; and, whether I believe it or not, not mine. We can't fall apart the minute we hit an obstacle, José! We can't separate ourselves the moment we make a mistake! We're a team...We're the Three Caballeros...That's got to count for something!"

José shook his head sadly. "But I can't fight. What use am-"

"Stop it!" Donald's temper flared as he gripped his friend by his uninjured shoulder. "You can't think that way! None of us can! If we do, we'll never get out of here alive. We need to start thinking _together__!_ We need to do what we do best. Sure you might not be a fantastic close-combat fighter; so what?! Use the talents you _do_ have! Let's put them to use; or we're going to be down one ex-partner!"

"...W-what?"

"José, think about it! Think of all the western movies and stories you've ever read or watched! José, they're going to kill him! If we don't get out of here that maniac is going to _kill_ Panchito!"

José wasn't sure why that hadn't clicked in his brain earlier. Of course they were going to kill him! This wasn't the movies. There weren't always happy endings. They were _real_ heroes; and real heroes sometimes lose...but not today! Not if he had anything to say about it! He all at once remembered Panchito's words from the day before.

_"Your strength is not fighting with your fists; it is fighting with your wit!"_

Well, it was time to put that brain of his to work. "Help me up!" As Donald assisted the parrot in rising, José's mind was already speeding through a hundred possible plans; all he had to do was find one that would work. Every cage has its vulnerabilities. This barn had to have a weakness, and José was determined to find it...before his Mexican friend ran out of time.

...

"Oof!"

Panchito felt the wind knocked out of him as he smashed to the hard, wooden floor. He was certain that the impact would leave a pretty nasty bruise. He hadn't even been able to catch himself; his hands tied tightly behind his back. His head was spinning from the neck-jarring push he had just received from one of his villainous escorts. And, in all possible ways, that had _hurt_. The vultures chuckled cruelly at his pain and discomfort. Had they been given permission from their leader, they would have inflicted much more; but that was not a privilege that they would get to enjoy themselves. Though they would be allowed to watch.

The lackeys had taken Panchito into the old saloon. It was a wreck, both inside and out. Besides the holes in all sides of the structure, there was also years worth of dust on every piece of furniture. Chairs, many of them knocked over onto their sides, were covered in cobwebs, untouched by human hands for far longer than could be remembered by anyone alive. The tables of the saloon were in much the same condition; some even smashed and scattered about the room. The bar was scratched and dusty, the mirror hanging behind it smudged and cracked. The glass cups that still lay on the shelves were filled with dirt, blown in through the many openings in the saloons walls. All in all, the place was a mess. It was as though there had been a rowdy bar fight the day everybody had abandoned town. And that was probably the truth.

Panchito began to try and pick himself off the floor, coughing on the gray dust he had accidentally inhaled into his already dry throat. He couldn't even dust himself off. He stood shakily, struggling to do so without the use of his arms. He gave the vultures a glare. "En serio, chicos?!* Was that really necessary?!" He could literally feel the bruise forming on his ribs were he had taken most of the weight from his fall.

A slow, evil chuckle emitted from the darkness in the corner of the room. "Oh, it was completely necessary, Pequeño." Out of the shadows, the Vulture emerged, looking even larger in the confines of the cluttered saloon. "After all; you are our _special_ guest..." He smiled that sickening grin that curved his beak in a most unnaturally hideous way.

Panchito tried to still the pounding of his own heart, ignoring just how frightened he was becoming. "Get to the point, Señor. What do you want with me?" He really did want to know. As far as he knew, he had never even met this lunatic until that night by the docks. And yet, the Vulture acted as if they had known each other for years. The more Panchito thought about it, the more puzzling it became. Just what _did_ this guy want with him?

The Vulture moved closer, smirking when his prisoner took an involuntary step backwards. He completely towered over the rooster, dwarfing Panchito in comparison. The smaller bird's face showed a shadow of fear, before returning to its defiant glare. But the Vulture had caught it; that one second of weakness, and it fueled his natural gravitation toward causing great suffering. "Ah," he grinned, "that _is_ a good question...One that deserves an answer. Here, let me give you...a HINT!"

The clawed talons struck so quickly Panchito didn't even have a chance to react until he was lying back on the floor, gasping for breath with three long, deep scratches tracing all the way from his left elbow to his wrist. Blood soaked into his red jacket, dripping to the filthy floor as he moaned, curling in on himself in agony. It hurt! Oh, madre* it hurt! It was like fire was coursing through his veins; burning his arm up in almost unbearable pain.

The Vulture clacked his beak in mock sympathy, retracting his claws as the rooster tried to keep himself from passing out on the floor. "Aw, poor little _fool_. You still haven't figured out who _I am_, have you?" he sneered. He began to circle the rooster, like the bird of prey he was. His talons scraped against the floor, leaving sharp prints in the dust wherever he stepped. He was enjoying every second of this.

Panchito struggled to get up, but only made it to his knees. He was struggling to breath around the intenae pain that continued to shock through him like bolts of electricity. "Y-you're...E-Eloy...Pér..ez," he panted, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. He noticed vaguely just how much he was bleeding, and the sight made him feel even more dizzy and lightheaded than he had before.

"Ah, so you've found out my real name, have you? Bien hecho*!" The monster chuckled. He leaned forward to look his prisoner right in his pain-filled eyes. Panchito stared up at him, no longer trying to conceal his fear. "But you haven't connected the name to the memory," the Vulture continued. "Let me help you remember."

Panchito flinched back, scrunching his eyes shut, expecting another violent attack on his person. He wasn't sure how much of that he could take. Another hit and he was sure he'd be out for the count. He could barely handle what he'd already been given. But, after a moment, when he didn't feel any new forms of excruciating pain, he slowly opened his eyes again. His expression filled with confusion at what he saw.

In the Vulture's outstretched hand, just inches from the rooster's face, was an old compass. It was wooden; chipped with age and use. It didn't look like it was functioning anymore, but it was truly a beautiful piece of handiwork. As Panchito stared at it, the shadow of a memory briefly flashed in his mind. He had seen that compass somewhere before...But he couldn't remember...He hesitantly looked up at the Vulture, a question in his eyes.

"Still struggling for answers?" the Vulture growled, turning the instrument over in his hand. "Maybe this will help." He placed the object back in front of his face, this time with the bottom facing up. On the underside, carved into the smooth, worn wood, were two initials; barely visible with age.

_C.Q._

_Carmelo Quintero_. Panchito blinked in disbelief as that sickening feeling in his gut grew. "M-my...father?" He frowned, trying to look angry even while in pain. "How d-did...y-you get...your hands...on th-that?!" He now realized that he remembered the device. Far back, from his earliest childhood. His father had never gone anywhere without it. He had always said that, for him, it represented the arrow of his heart that always led him home. It had never failed Quintero...until the day he never came back.

The Vulture's grin returned, reading the now emotional pain that was flitting across his adversary's face. "Ah. Good, you remember to whom this belonged. Tell me, _Panchito_, how much _did_ they tell you of your father's death?" His eyes bore into the rooster, demanding an answer. His eyes shone with malice, and a frighteningly evident hatred.

Panchito reluctantly thought back to that terrible day...The worst day of his life. His father had left him and his mother at home, while going off on a mission for the USM Border agency. He had said that he was going to be home in time for supper; that they were just rounding up a few stray bandits down in the Southern territory. He had promised to bring Panchito back a gift, if the young child agreed to stay with his mother. Panchito had wanted to go, but agreed, shaking his father's hand like a true little man. It was the last time he would ever have any physical contact with his father. How many times he had wished since then that he had hugged his father! That he had embraced the agent with all the love he could muster...Because he never got the chance to do it again.

The next morning, a lot of officers showed up at their house. Important officers; the kind his father always saluted when he saw them. Colonel Hawkins had been there too, though he wasn't a colonel then. They said they had bad news, and needed to speak with his mother. Panchito had been sent outside while the adults talked indoors. Shortly after, he was called back inside. His mother was thanking the officers for something, but her face didn't look thankful at all. When she turned to him, he noticed the tears coursing down her beautiful face. She knelt down in front of him, gently clutching his shoulders...

"They...they s-said that h-he died in...th-the line...of duty," Panchito answered, still struggling to breath but managing to glare up at his captor. He suddenly felt such intense fear riding up his spine that it was a wonder he could even manage that. He felt he knew what the Vulture was going to say next, even though he couldn't quite pinpoint it in his mind. The fear of it was there; making his heart speed up even more.

"Oh, that's true, Pequeño," the Vulture said cruelly. "He died defending both his country and your friend's _precious_ United States. He stood there firing away until he hadn't a bullet on his person. He fought with his bare hands, striving to live another day so he could return to his _special_ little family...Until he was caught from behind. Claws dug into his back, and he screamed in agony! The fool still struggled, pulling away and preparing to use his all to stop the 'villains' he had come to defeat!" A look of satisfactory crossed the monster's face. "But he was shot dead before he could even raise a finger."

Panchito stared in absolute horror. The words hit him harder than the Vulture ever could have struck him. His mind was spinning in disbelief and pain. He wanted to convince himself that the Vulture was lying; that he was just trying to upset him. But something deep down inside of him knew that the villain's words were true...But it was still so terrible! _It couldn't be; it just couldn't! _"H-how...do you...know that?"

The Vulture smirked. "Because, Pequeño, I'm the one who shot him."

...

"José, what are you doing?"

The parrot turned his head toward Donald's voice in the darkness. For the past twenty-five minutes the two had been slowly making their way around the walls of the inside of the barn, José tapping and rapping the wood continually as they went. "I'm trying to find a weak spot in the structure of this building. If we're going to get to Panchito in time, we're going to have to escape out of here." He rapped again, listening carefully to the tone the wood made in each area they passed.

"But we don't have anything to break through with," Donald argued, "Even if the spot was weaker, we still don't know if we could get through it."

"But we've got to try, Donald! You said yourself we have to work together on this; so help me find a spot." The parrot continued working his way along the rough wood, careful not to get any splinters. He used his left hand to feel and rap, while his right arm he held close to his body so that he wouldn't bump it on anything. It was still quite sore. As though the muscles were still recovering from the spasms and stress they had so recently endured. Of course, his shoulder ached the most, but it was nothing compared to the pain he had felt earlier.

He shifted carefully, feet shuffling forward slowly, in case there was some unseen obstacle hidden in the dark. He could feel Donald beside him, following his every move. In the stillness of the barn the tapping noises sounded loud and deep. The wood was quite thick and sturdy, but José was determined not to give up just yet. His hand moved to a different spot and he gave another knock, this time being rewarded by a slightly deeper sound. That was what he had been looking for. "Hey, it sounds different here! More hollow. Donald, I think we've found our-" He suddenly froze, listening intently. A faint tapping could be heard from beyond the wooden wall.

Donald couldn't see his friend, and just assumed he was the one still doing the knocking. When José suddenly broke off his sentence and grew silent, if worried the duck. "What is it?" He stiffened, afraid that the answer would be even more disheartening, like the rest of their afternoon had been.

"I...I think there's someone on the other side of this wall!" José exclaimed excitedly.

"A guard?"

"No, I don't think so..." The parrot gave the area another rap, a little louder this time. Then the two birds held their breath, waiting in silence. A moment later, there was the faint sound of tapping once again. "See, they're answering us!" José turned to his friend in the dark, his heart souring with a new hope. "Donald? Do you know Morse Code?"

Donald blinked. "Morse Code? Well, yeah. It was part of my training for the Navy."

"Do you remember enough to talk to the person on the other side of this wall?"

"Sure; I think so. Do you think they'll understand it?" It was a good question. It wasn't like Morse Code was used all that often anymore.

José's voice was filled with intense excitement. "If my guess is correct, the missing agents are behind here. They're agents in a secret service, Donald; they _must_ know Morse Code."

Well, that made sense. It was worth a try. Donald shifted so that he was in front of the part of the wall his friend indicated by guiding his hand. The duck raised his fist, ready to knock, but then paused. "What should I say?"

José chuckled in the darkness. "Tell them who we are," he said, that hopeful tone still very evident in his voice.

Donald nodded; thought for a moment to recall the correct signals and then rapped out a series of long and short knocks. Once he finished, they once again waited in silence. And again they were answered. The pattern of the taps were obviously an answer to José, even before the duck cried "They understood! They're answering..." He listened as the faint knocking continued. "You were right, José! It _is_ the missing agents!...And the missing persons the Colonel told us about!"

"Shhh!" José put a hand gently over Donald's bill. "We don't want the vultures coming in here!" he hissed.

"Sorry. So now what?"

José let his brain kick into full gear. With all those people, plus him and Donald, they had a lot more strength on their side. It was just a matter of using it to their advantage. "Tell them we've got a plan, but we'll have to work together." José waited as the duck relayed the message. There was a reply, and then José could almost picture the grin on Donald's face.

"They said they'd be delighted to help."

**...**

*******En serio, chicos?! = Really, guys?! (Spanish)**

***M****adre = Mother (Spanish)**

***Bien hecho! = Well done! (Spanish)**

**Things just keep getting more intense! :)**


	11. Time Running Out

Panchito gasped and flinched back as if the words the Vulture said had physically hurt him. "N-no..." His mind was a swirl of emotions; painful emotions. Almost more painful than the deep wound on his arm. He didn't want to believe the villain; didn't want to admit that what the Vulture was saying could even be remotely true. But the smug look on the Vulture's face left no room for doubt. It seemed strange that such an evil person would tell the truth; but, sometimes, the most dangerous villain is the one who can use the truth against you.

"Oh, yes," the Vulture sneered, returning to circling the rooster. "He and I were old enemies, you could say. For years he and his various partners tracked me, trying to put a stop to my schemes, and succeeding again and again!" His eyes burned with hatred. "Those _fools_ thought that I would just stand by and watch my plans crumble, one by one; turning to dust with a single touch of their _stupid,_ little, insignificant USM Border Secret Service!" A sickening smile spread across the monster's beaked face. "But I won. I shot him in the back! I watched him die, slowly; far away from his precious wife and child! Oh, how he anguished over the fact that he would never see either of you again! It was music to my ears!"

The Vulture stopped his morbid tirade to snap his heated eyes to his prisoner. Panchito was looking up at him, his eyes registering shock and pain. "But then," he practically screeched, pointing a claw stiffly in the rooster's direction. "Just when I am finally rid of that meddling agent, who should take his place, but his meddling son!"

The volume of the Vulture's voice seemed to shake Panchito from his stuper a little. He winced as his arm continued to throb and bleed. "But...But I didn't-"

"You're just like your father!"

The rooster actually felt a little pride rise in his heart at that. He knew the Vulture had meant it as an insult, but instead it seemed to snap him back to reality. "You'll pay for your crimes, Pérez!" he vowed darkly. "You'll pay for murdering mi padre*! I'll-"

"You'll what, Pequeño?" the Vulture snorted, "Arrest me?" He reached out suddenly taking hold of Panchito's torn jacket. The rooster gasped in pain as the bird of prey dragged his prisoner to his feet. He looked right into the rooster's pain-filled eyes. "You are in no position to arrest me, Señor Pistoles." He gave Panchito a push and for the third time in the last hour the rooster was lying on the dust-covered floor.

"Look at you," the Vulture sneered, "You can't even save yourself or your amigos. You walk into an obvious trap; allow one of your own to get captured; you end up injured and soon you and your partners will die." A cruel smile lit up his beak. "Some great agent _you_ turned out to be."

Panchito flinched at the harsh words from his place on the ground. It figures the monster would know just where to hit him; right where it hurt. Throughout this whole adventure, Panchito had been doubting himself more and more. The Vulture was right..._He_ had made that mistake of not waiting for backup by the docks. _He_ had gone and hired his best friends to join him in a life of danger and peril. _He _had charged into town, enjoying the excitement instead of looking out for his partners. It was because of _him_ that José had gotten captured and hurt. Because of _him_ they were going to die...Really...What kind of agent was he?...A fool. A reckless, no-good, trigger-happy fool...

The Vulture could see the agony of defeat in his prisoner's face. The rooster was just lying there; eyes staring blankly. Now all the villain had to do was finish it. "You've become quite the failure, Panchito. What life would you have now anyway? You think the Colonel would let you continue to kill off his agents? You think anyone would want to be friends with you, knowing that it meant death for them? No, Señor. It looks to me like you've got nowhere to go. Life looks kind of empty now, doesn't it? That's what it's been like for me, for all those years, with your father destroying one plan after another; cutting off all my chances. How does it feel?" He gave a cackle as he reached beneath his feathers and pulled out a small, black pistol. He gazed at it fondly. "Don't worry. That feeling will only last as long as you're _alive._" He cocked the gun with an audible _click_. "And that will only be a few more seconds." He raised the pistol on the unmoving figure. "Oh, and by the way, Pequeño; it was with this gun that I killed your father."

He sighted along the barrel, his finger beginning to tighten on the trigger.

Panchito wouldn't even look up.

...

"Alright," José murmured in the dark. He was positioning himself for their escape. "Are they ready?"

There was a series of knocking sounds as Donald checked with their unseen allies, followed by a softer answer. "They're ready," the duck affirmed. "Do you really think this is a good idea, José; with your arm?"

"Eu vou ficar bem*. Got any better ideas?" The duck's silence proved his point. "OK, Donald, tell them to start in five seconds."

Donald relayed the message and then quickly joined his friend ten yards from the wall. The duck was hopeful that this idea would work. José was smart; known for getting himself out of fixes.

_ONE_

But that didn't allay all Donald's fears. What if the walls were too strong?

_TWO_

What if they weren't strong enough to break through?

_THREE_

What if José injured himself even more?

_FOUR_

And what if they were already too late...

"Five!" José and Donald ran forward at full speed toward the wall. José positioned himself so that his sore arm would be free of the impact, charging with his left side. Donald still didn't like it, but José was right; it was their only chance.

With an amazing force, the two birds hit the wall. At the same time, from the other side of the structure, a total of six hostages did the same thing. Running smack into a solid wall is never a fun hobby to take up; but, in this case, it was worth it. With the combined weight and strength of eight people hitting the wall simultaneously , the old, gray wood gave a splintering groan, shattering a great big hole right through it.

The escapees fell in a heap of wood and fellow prisoners. They carefully helped each other up, made sure none of them were hurt, before shaking hands all round.

"Agent Williams, gentlemen," one greeted; a mallard, like Donald. "And this is Agent Longfellow." The small, thin raccoon nodded in salutation.

"Agents Carioca and Duck," José introduced, shaking the two fellow service agents' hands. It felt weird calling themselves that, but that was what they truly were; agents. The parrot peeked behind them, taking in the room in which the hostages had been kept. The barn, apparently, had been two sided, with two, separate rooms. The left side, the one José and Donald had been kept in, had no windows to speak of; which explained why it had been so dark. The hostages' side was for more illuminated, having two or three windows that José could see. The sudden sunlight was giving the two friends a nasty headache.

There had been six prisoners on the other side. The two agents, two woman, an older fellow, and a little boy of about twelve years old. They all looked tired, hungry and weak, but otherwise unharmed. It was a relief to them all to know that some progress had been made in their escape, but, sadly, they were still _inside_ the barn. But now that they knew how to break through, it didn't take them long to smash through another wall. Within minutes the eight of them stood, blinking, out of doors.

José quickly pulled the other two agents aside. "Our partner was taken to the Vulture," he hissed urgently. "Donald and I are going in to save him. I need one of you to come with us and the other to take these people to safety."

"I'll come with you," Williams volunteered.

"And I'll get them to safety," Longfellow saluted.

"Good. Now we need to hurry, before Panchito gets hims-"

"Panchito!" Williams choked, "We'd better hurry!" The agent took off down the dusty street, heading for the saloon on the other end of the main road. Donald and José rushed to follow, sensing his urgency.

"What's wrong?!" Donald panted from behind. "What's going on?!"

Williams didn't even glance back as he thundered down the dry, dirt lane. "The Vulture killed Panchito's father! Now he's out to get Pistoles too! We need to hurry, or you'll be looking for a new partner!"

Donald and José exchanged panicked glances, terrified they'd be too late. They ran as fast as their legs could carry them, praying that their friend was still alive.

**...**

***M****i padre = My father (Spanish)**

*******Eu vou ficar bem = I'll be fine (Portuguese)**

**Sorry it's such a short chapter, but I really wanted to have another cliff hanger (I know; I'm terrible). :) I'm thinking probably two or three chapters left. :)**


	12. Chances

Panchito wouldn't even look up.

He knelt on the worn, dust-covered floor, staring blankly at the aged and splintered floorboards. He heard the cocking of the gun, and the Vulture's cruel words, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to care anymore. Whether it was his depressed state, or the fact that he had lost a considerable amount of blood, Panchito didn't know. He just didn't care. He felt so hopeless; as if it didn't matter whether he made it out of this mess alive or not. His mind flashed to his friends, trapped because of him. In danger because of him. Going to _die_ because of him. He didn't deserve to escape. He was getting what was warranted him...

The Vulture was slightly annoyed that the rooster was no longer responding to his jeers. He had apparently done _too_ good a job of tearing the Mexican's life apart. It really hadn't been all that difficult, which also irked the monstrous bird of prey. He would have preferred to draw this little game of his out longer; making his enemy suffer more. But now the rooster had almost completely shut him out. Panchito had given up; that much was clear. The fun was over. It was time to finish this. The gun was aimed right for the rooster's heart. All it would take would be one shot. One bullet and Panchito Pistoles' life would be no more. It would be so easy to do. Just one little twitch of the finger and it would all be over.

The Vulture smiled cruelly and started to pull the trigger...

All at once, the broken down saloon doors burst open with a slam. A tall, thin mallard ran wildly into the room, taking in the situation at a glance. Without a second thought, Agent Williams grabbed the closest vulture henchman and gave him a hard shove. The surprised creature gave a yelp as he flew across the dingy room, slamming hard into his distracted leader. The Vulture's hand jerked upward in surprise as the bullet went off, firing into the ceiling just as Donald and José came crashing through the doors and entered.

The two had been running as fast as they could after Agent Williams, but had still managed to fall behind. Now, as they entered the scene, their eyes opened wide. The sound of the pistol going off had nearly stopped their hearts with fear. Fear that the echoing shot heralded the end of their friend's life. To their relief, they saw what had happened, and that Panchito was still alive. They had made it just in time. As soon as the two agents entered, the room quickly became a battlefield. Seeing his plan suddenly taking an unexpected turn, the Vulture pushed his lackey away from him, giving Williams a nasty snarl that made the agent flinch back. The sight was quite frightening. The Vulture towered over everyone in the room, eyes burning with an intense hatred; his wrath momentarily shifting away from his prize prisoner to the new arrivals. Then, he disappeared into the shadows. Williams made to follow him, but was charged by to other henchmen who successfully distracted him.

The rest of the Vulture's men launched themselves at Donald and José. One swung a punch toward the Brazilian parrot's face, and José ducked down, resulting in the vulture's fist pounding painfully into the swinging door. Donald leaned forward and dealt the stunned bird a hard clip to the jaw, and the vulture collapsed to the floor. That got Donald going. Soon, the thrill of the fight took hold and the duck began giving it his all. He swung left and right, villains flying off in all directions as his fists met them expertly. As he fought, Donald began to carefully make his way toward Williams, who was trying to fend off a rather bulky vulture nearly twice his size. The other mallard was having a little trouble with his larger opponent. Together, Williams and Donald succeeded in the brute's defeat. Donald knocked another villain aside before turning to José. The Brazilian was right beside him, dodging and ducking, luring each vulture to step closer where Donald could reach them.

"José! Oof!...Go to Panchito!" He grunted as one foe managed to get in a punch to his gut, but quickly recovered and retaliated. It was hard to be heard in all the noise. The sound of tables, chairs, and glass being smashed in the fight was deafening. Yells and cries of surprise or pain where coming from their foes, adding to the immense cacophony.

José dodged another lackey by stepping quickly to the side. "Where is he!?" His eyes began searching the interior of the building, expecting their rooster friend to be well into the fray.

"In the corner!"

José nodded, ducking one last time before heading in the indicated direction. After a moment of searching, the parrot finally spotted the rooster. But he didn't find the Panchito he had expected to. In his mind he had pictured his friend laughing and joking as he fought their enemies with ease. That was not what José found. The parrot froze in shock for a moment as he stared at Panchito, who was sitting on the dust-covered floor, leaning weakly against an upturned chair.

Running forward and dropping to his knees, José took in his battered friend's condition. It wasn't pretty. The rooster's red cloths were torn and dusty; his left sleeve was covered in a dark, crimson stain that made José's stomach drop. It was blood; there was no doubt about that. From beneath the shredded material, the parrot could just make out the wound. But it was hard to see it clearly. He noticed that Panchito's hands were tied tightly behind his back, and José quickly decided that that would be a good place to start helping his friend. Gently settling the rooster against him, the parrot began to tackle the tough ropes binding his partner. The knots were extremely efficient, and José could see how his friend would not have been able to free himself alone. Though, it was obvious that he had tried; his wrists were chaffed pretty badly, bleeding just a little.

Panchito's eyes were open, but he wasn't reacting to anything around him, which frightened José. The rooster was usually so full of life and fire; a bundle of energy that just kept going and going and going. To see him like this, weak and defeated, was concerning to say the least. He stared straight ahead, blankly seeing nothing but the thoughts in his own mind. Finally managing to get the knotted rope free of his partner's wrists, José gently leaned him back against the fallen chair. Glancing behind him at the brawl, José reached forward and grabbed a discarded pistol from the floor, probably dropped by one of the lackeys. It was a lucky break, really. If anyone decided to bother Panchito and José, the parrot would have something to defend them with.

The fight was still raging, tearing about the room, but Donald and Williams seemed to be handling it just fine. The loud sounds of punches, smacks, crushing furniture, and shattering glass had become what was almost a soothing white noise. José was rather surprised at how persistent the vulture lackeys were. No matter how many times Donald or Williams knocked them down, they always seemed to pop right back up again for another try. But at least they were leaving José alone with his patient.

The Brazilian parrot turned to the next most pressing issue; Panchito's arm. Carefully, José began to roll up the wet, tattered sleeve and hissed in sympathy when he saw the actual wound. It was deep, consisting of three long scratches that started at Panchito's left elbow and stretched down to his wrist. José shuddered to think of the pain it must have produced, and was more than likely still producing. The scratches were covered in dust, the particles having stuck to the sticky, wet blood that was still steadily seeping from the wound. Having no way of cleaning the injury at the moment, the parrot decided that the deep gashes should be wrapped to keep any further contamination from getting into the wound. The last thing Panchito needed was an infection. Wrapping the it would have to do until they could get to a doctor.

As the parrot checked over the injury one more time, to make sure there was nothing embedded in it, Panchito blinked a few times and his eyes came into a hazy focus. He winced as he felt pressure against his arm and turned his eyes to the figure crouched beside him. It took him a moment, but, at last, he recognized his friend.

"J-José?" His voice was slurred and soft; almost inaudible.

"Cuidado*! Hold still, Panchito; you're hurt." José was extremely relieved to see his friend responding again, even if it was just a little bit. That emotionless, zombie-like state had scared the Brazilian a lot more than he would ever admit. Leaning back, José took hold of the sleeve of his pale yellow jacket; giving a sharp tug. There was the sound of tearing fabric as he started to rip strips of his coat.

"Oh...yo...quédate quieto...*" the rooster mumbled weakly. He tried to focus his eyes on his friend. He attempted to sit up, but the action made him feel dizzy, and he slumped back against the chair with a gasp.

"I said hold still!"

"...Wh-what are...you d-doing?"

José finished his task and moved closer to his wounded friend. "Returning a favor, meu amigo*."

As gently as possible, José began to wrap his partner's arm with the cloth. It wasn't easy, since the blood continued to soak into each strip. It took several more, both of José's sleeves, to finally stop the bleeding and securely fit and tie a sling around the rooster's neck and arm. Panchito had remained pretty quiet during the whole process, but José knew it had to hurt. He could tell by the way all the color had drained from Panchito's face. The rooster's breaths were coming in sharp, pained spurts, sounding raspy and shallow. Working carefully, José began to check him for any other injuries.

Donald and Williams were finishing up the bar-room brawl. Most of the vultures had taken all the beatings they could handle. Only a few still had any fight left in them. The others lay strewn about; either knocked senseless or simply hoping that if they appeared so, that the two agents would leave them alone. The saloon was even more of a mess now than it had been before. Not one piece of furniture remained unbroken or standing correctly. Everything was in shambles. Even the swinging doors were smashed.

Donald was doing exceedingly well. He remembered what Panchito had told him, and used his anger to fire his fighting style. It wasn't hard to find stuff to be angry about. Though he hadn't seen his friend up close, Donald could tell that Panchito was in bad shape. That filled him with rage. Not an all-consuming, berserk rage; but a calm, justice-is-served kind of rage. It improved his performance, surpassing even Williams, who had been an agent for ten years, in skill. The two worked good together, playing off each others moves. One would punch a vulture, the other would trip him. One would swing and the other would duck. Their teamwork was flawless. But, as the battle started to come to a close, Donald found himself becoming increasingly distracted. He was worried about Panchito. He could see José as he tended to their partner, but the parrot's face was grim and creased with worry. That couldn't be good.

With a final punch, the last vulture tumbled to the floor. The fight was over.

Donald exchanged a weary smile with Williams before the smile faded and he quickly headed for his two partners on the other side of the room. Or, at least, Donald started to. For some odd reason, he found himself suddenly caught where he was; he couldn't step forward as he had planned to. It was as if something had snatched the back of his shirt to keep him from doing so. Then, to his great surprise, his feet lifted right off the floor. That was when he realized that they had made one terrible mistake. They had been so occupied by the fight and with Panchito, that they had all forgotten about the Vulture.

José and Williams' faces registered absolute horror as the Vulture appeared from the shadows behind Donald and snatched the duck up by the back of his collar. Donald kicked and swung his fists, only succeeding in causing himself to twist back and forth, hanging by his blue sailor shirt. He looked frightened, as they all did, but he was also angry. Angry that he hadn't been more careful.

"You _fools_!" the Vulture hissed menacingly. "You've ruined everything!" He gave Donald a shake to emphasize his anger. Donald gave a soft quack, whether of annoyance or pain, José couldn't tell. The Vulture took a menacing step forward, glaring at each of them in turn. His eyes finally settled of Panchito. The rooster still looked dazed, not appearing to completely comprehend what was happening.

"I was going to kill that little engañar*!" he snarled, pointing a claw in Panchito's direction.

José instinctively moved closer to his injured partner. It was a miracle, really, that they had made it in time to save the rooster. He just hoped they could all still get out of this alive.

"I was going to _kill_ him," the Vulture repeated. His deep scowl turned into a cruel, evil smile that slowly spread across his face. It sent shivers up the agents' backs. "But since you're all so eager to join him, I wont discourage you." He chuckled. "I'm going to kill you all..." He glanced at Donald who had gone very still. The duck was obviously trying not to draw attention to himself. "...Starting with you!" He drew back his claws, posing them in the air, ready to strike.

"No!" José sprang to his feet, helpless to do anything. He'd never be able to reach the villain in time. The parrot's thoughts were in a jumble as he tried to come up with a plan. But nothing was coming to mind. He drew a blank. Donald was going to die and there was nothing he could do about it.

The Vulture grinned malicious, bringing the talons downward, planning to tear into his prisoner with corrupt pleasure. It all seemed as if it were happening in slow motion. The sharp claws falling for Donald's chest, gleaming in the filtered sunlight. José's shout of terror; a desperate plea, as well as Williams' own shout of anger. All hope was gone; there was no choice but to stand and watch. Watch in fear, and horror, and-

_BANG!_

The Vulture gave a monstrous cry of pain, releasing Donald; allowing the duck to scramble away. The Vulture gasped in agony, gripping his shoulder which, all at once, was burning with a fiery torment. Blood seeped from the area, leaking out around his fingers. A wound. A bullet wound. Four pairs of confused eyes turned to where the gunshot had sounded.

Panchito stood, albeit shakily, with a gun in his uninjured hand. It was the pistol that José had picked up from the floor during the fight. In his panic, the parrot had forgotten about it and had left it within the rooster's reach. The weapon was smoking, evidence that it was indeed the gun from which the bullet had come. Panchito still looked horribly pale, but his eyes had regained their usual fire.

"Señor Pérez," his voice, though still weak, sounded loud in the shocked silence. "You are under arrest for kidnapping, stealing, and for successful and attempted murder!" The gun was steadily aimed at the Vulture's heart, the rooster's face set in firm seriousness. Donald and José had never seen their friend so angry and tense. He was glaring; boring his gaze into that of his enemy. It was actually rather frightening.

The Vulture stood still for a moment, holding his bleeding shoulder tightly. Then, starting as a chuckle and ending in a sort of half-crazed roar, the Vulture laughed. "You think you've won?!" he shouted across the room. His eyes were wide with hatred and malice. "You've only won the battle, not the war, Pequeño!"

"It's over, Pérez," Panchito said calmly, "Give up."

Another chuckle came from the bird of prey. "Oh, this is far from over...Someday, we'll meet again. Someday when you are not expecting me. Then we'll see what happens...And next time, I'll get you. I'll get you all!" From within his feathers he suddenly pulled out a small, round-shaped object. What it was, no one could tell; but before anyone could do anything, the Vulture threw it to the ground. The floorboards burst into flames immediately, completely shielding the villain from view. The fire ate greedily at the old, dry wood as it quickly began to spread.

José lurched forward to grab Panchito as the agents made a hasty retreat out one of the holes in the back of the saloon's wall. The fire obviously hadn't been meant to kill them. It had been just enough to allow the Vulture a chance to escape, and it had worked; the villain was nowhere to be seen. The agents assembled outside the burning building, watching as it slowly turned to ashes.

Panchito knew that this was bad. The Vulture's threat still rang in his head like a resounding gong. The villain _would_ return. Someday. But where? When? What would the monster do, and how would they stop him? Panchito wanted to go after the villain; stop him and bring him to justice. Put an end to it all then and there. But his strength was beginning to fail him. The adrenalin that had powered him a few moments before, to save his friends, suddenly left him. He felt his knees buckle...felt himself falling...someone catching him...Voices telling him he'd be alright...

And then everything went black and silent...

**...**

*******Cuidado! = Careful!/Watch out! (Portuguese)**

*******Oh ... yo ... quédate quieto ... = Oh ... I ... hold still ... (Spanish)**

***Meu amigo = My friend (Portuguese)**

***Engañar = Fool (Spanish)**

**Sorry it took me so long to get this up! I have been so, so, sooooo busy. :( But that's ok, it's up now and I've only got one more chapter to go! :)**


	13. Worth

Colonel Hawkins sat, hands folded in front of him, gazing steadily over his desk at the three agents before him. They were battered, bruised, and, in the middle one's case, sporting a heavily bandaged arm. Donald. Panchito. José. All in a line in his office. They looked tired, despite the hours of rest they'd had; tired and quiet. Hawkins noticed an odd change in their demeanor since last they had stood here in his room. Before, Donald and José had stood slightly behind Panchito, allowing the rooster to do all the talking. Now, they stood in a tight row, with Panchito sandwiched between them. It was as if they were guarding him; reassuring themselves that he was safe. And with Panchito looking as pathetically pale as he did, it made Hawkins want to join them.

The Colonel winced mentally at the memory of the week before, when the agents had returned from the mission at Courtner Creek. Hawkins hadn't really been sure what to expect. But what he certainly _hadn't_ expected was Agents Donald, José, and Williams to come barreling into the fort on Sénor Martinez, desperately screaming for a doctor. He hadn't expected to see them supporting an unconscious Panchito, whose arm was soaked with red, despite the makeshift bandages that had been used to try and halt the flow of blood. Hawkins shuddered at the memory. It had made his heart falter; seeing his friend in such a serious condition.

Dr. Johnson and the medical staff had been frantic. They were used to Panchito coming in with injuries, but those were usually quite small and not life threatening in any way. This time it had been different. The rooster had lost a dangerous amount of blood; he had been emotionally and physically drained, and that was all _before_ the trip back to Cawford. The journey to the fort had left him unconscious, unresponsive, severely dehydrated, and fighting a horribly high fever. For days the doctors carefully tended to him and, even though it was touch and go for the first several hours, soon the rooster began to show signs of great improvement. Donald and José had stayed by his side all through the week, one on either side of him. Just as they were now.

Donald. Panchito. José.

It was Friday now, and the rooster had healed significantly enough to be allowed out of the infirmary. He would not be permitted to participate in any assignments for at least another week or two; being told to take it easy, and this time Dr. Johnson meant it. The doctor threatened that, if Panchito didn't follow his orders, he would personally tie the rooster to a cot until he made a full recovery. But, to everyone's surprise, Panchito seemed to be taking Johnson's advice for once. Hawkins had received special orders from General Almaraz to grant all three agents two weeks dismissal from duties. They all needed to rest; Panchito in particular.

It was really a miracle that any of them were alive at all. Agents Williams and Longfellow had reported in shortly after arriving back at Fort Cawford. Hawkins was horrified by the details of the mission, as well as impressed with the shear heroism his men described. He gaped in pure surprise at how José and Donald had orchestrated their escape from the barn. A sort of guilt had risen in his chest at the raw courage and bravery the two had displayed. A guilt he was now, here in his office a week later, about to address. The Colonel rested his gaze on the three agents standing before him.

"Gentlemen," Hawkins started, "I would like to apologize to the three of you." He took a deep, steadying breath. "Panchito, when you first brought Donald and José into my office as your chosen partners, I questioned you on your choice. I believed they were unfit for service here at Fort Cawford. For that I am sincerely sorry. Donald, José, I did not think you could survive and function in this line of work; but I was wrong. You have both proven your worth, ingenuity, and bravery. Nothing more could every be asked of you. The three of you are now the best team we have. Your mission was successful, and for that we are extremely grateful."

"But...we didn't catch the Vulture," Donald spoke up softly, shooting Panchito a nervous glance. By now, everyone had heard about Panchito's father. They all knew what Eloy Pérez had done to him, and what the Vulture had planned to do to their friend. It left a cold, stone-like lump in the pit of his stomach to even think of it.

Hawkins shook his head firmly. "Your mission was to rescue the hostages, and that is what you did." He turned his gaze to Panchito, noticing the bleak look in the rooster's eyes. "You have all done an excellent job, and I am recommending commendations for all three of you. You are valuable members of our service and I am proud to have you under my command." He gave them a heart-felt salute and they returned it; Panchito more slowly than the others. With a smile Hawkins finished with, "You are dismissed."

Donald, José, and Panchito turned to were almost to the door when Hawkins' voice stopped them. "Agent Pistoles, may I speak to you privately for a moment?"

Donald and José looked to their friend, seeming hesitant to leave him. They had been by his side since they had returned to the fort; sticking to him like glue, and Panchito had seemed to recover faster with them there. Of course, the rooster wasn't completely healed just yet. He was still far paler than anyone liked and he still held his arm rather stiffly; but he had regained nearly all his strength. But he had been very quiet. And they all knew the reason why. Finding out the fate of his father had been a painful experience. It was the worst kind of pain; one no one could help him overcome. Only time would fade those mental scars, but with all the care and friendship that surrounded him, people were sure they would heal faster. They hoped.

"Go ahead, amigos," Panchito half smiled. "I'll meet you outside in a few minutes." His face tried to recapture some of its old, cheerful glow, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

With a nod, Donald and José reluctantly turned and left, closing the door softly.

The room filled with a quietness that left Hawkins feeling very uncomfortable. Panchito wasn't even looking at him. Instead, the rooster was still facing where his friends had exited, eyes fixed on the white painted, wooden door. His shoulders were slumped, showing evidence that the dark, depressed appearance that had hung over him like a cloud since he had returned was still there. The silence was deafening; a thick barrier that Hawkins knew he had no choice but to break.

"Panchito...Come here." It was a request, not a demand. This was the first day Panchito had been up and about. Hawkins had not yet had time to see the rooster, other than in the infirmary; and Panchito had either been unconscious or asleep at those times. They hadn't had time to...talk. About what had happened; not only about Courtner Creek, but about many years before.

There was a long hesitation, and, for a moment, Hawkins wasn't certain whether the rooster had heard him or not. But then Panchito turned slowly to face him, eyes fixed solidly on the floor; stubbornly determined not to make eye contact. Hawkins' heart twisted in his chest at the sight. Panchito had always been his best agent. Sure, he was impulsive, loud-mouthed, trigger-happy, and often got into the most ridiculous of fixes, but the Colonel found himself willing to trade all that back to be rid of what he was seeing now. Panchito seemed so...defeated. That was the only word that could properly describe it. Defeated.

"Panchito, I...I want to talk to you."

The rooster closed his eyes as if hearing his Colonel's voice hurt him. "I-I'm sorry, Colonel...I failed."

Hawkins blinked. "Panchito-"

"I failed!" The shout was so unexpected that even Panchito himself seemed surprised at his own sudden burst of anger. His face filled with a mix of emotions; anger, pain, guilt, and shame. There were others, but Hawkins couldn't define them. "I let you down," the rooster practically yelled, fisting his hands at his sides. "I let the agency down; and I let my father down! I don't deserve to be an agent! I'm worthless as an agent! I'm not worth anything at all!" The anger seemed to drain from him all at once. Only the sadness and guilt remained. "I...I am prepared to leave the field at your orders." He turned as if to go.

"Wait! Panchito, what are you _talking_ about?" Hawkins was past being mildly concerned. He had never, in all his years as Panchito's superior officer and friend, seen the rooster so upset. His feelings were going haywire, and Hawkins was unsure of how to help.

The rooster turned back, this time making full eye contact. His voice was low and soft. "You told me I needed to learn to be more careful; that if I didn't think before acting, then someone could get hurt...You were right. I ruined my last chance. I failed." He began to pace the carpeted floor, wringing his hands miserably. "I went charging into that town, Colonel. I could have taken a moment to think; I could have. But, no, instead I led myself- no, my team- right into a trap! José was hurt because of that mistake! They could have died!" He then launched into a long flow of Spanish. Even though Hawkins didn't know a lot of the language, he knew enough to tell that Panchito was not swearing, as the Colonel had first surmised. The rooster had simply discarded English to use his native speech to better express his anguish.

The Colonel let Panchito rant for awhile without interrupting. Soon enough, the rooster's voice grew hoarse and he fell silent, collapsing into one of the office's big, padded chairs, his face placed firmly in his hands. Hawkins waited a few more moments before he carefully made his way around his desk to stand in front of the agent. He tentatively stretched out a hand and laid it gently on the rooster's shoulder. Panchito didn't even look up.

"Panchito," he began carefully, "You are not worthless. You have not failed anyone. Not me, not your partners, not the service, and certainly _not_ your father." He said the words with genuine conviction. Panchito had _not_ failed. No matter what anyone else said or thought; including Panchito himself. When his words had no effect, Hawkins sighed. He settled on the floor in front of the chair; a rather unofficial behavior on his part, but the Colonel didn't care.

"I want to tell you a story," he said softly, as if speaking to a child. "There once was, in the Secret Service, a young rooster. He was friendly and kindhearted; always putting other people's needs and wants before his own. He was courageous and brave, and used every ounce of his strength and will to be an excellent agent. But he was always in trouble. He never obeyed orders, never listened, never thought ahead, and never managed to go anywhere without disaster following in his wake. He was a great agent, but he rarely made it through a mission unscathed." Hawkins paused. "Do you know what his name was?"

A dejected, muffled reply came from behind his friend's hands. "Panchito Pistoles." The name was spat with distaste, easily detected even behind the red feathered barrier. It struck a cord in the Colonel's heart.

"No."

Panchito sat still a moment, soaking in that one, firm word, before he lifted his head to meet Hawkins' gaze. "N-no?"

Colonel Hawkins shook his head, a hint of a smile coming to his beak. "No. His name was Agent Carmelo Quintero; your father." Panchito stared at him in shock, unsure of what to say; but Hawkins continued. "Carmelo was my partner for many years. We were an inseparable duo. We were always by each others' side. Through every adventure, every scheme, every mistake; we always faced it together. He was just like you, Panchito. Right down to your knack for finding trouble. Or maybe it was that trouble always managed to find him." The Colonel laughed. "I can't even begin to tell you all the traps we waltzed into; how many times _we_ came back torn and bruised. But, no matter how bad he messed up, Quintero never, _ever_ failed." Hawkins' face went from a smile to unconcealed guilt. "I guess I sometimes forget that his son is just like him. I never should have tried to change you, my friend. It was just...every time I remembered that fateful day when...when we lost him...I was afraid we'd lose you too."

Panchito lowered his gaze to hands. "...You almost did."

Hawkins laughed softly, despite the rooster's grim words. "But you weren't. Donald and José would never allow that." He determinedly stood to his feet. "And neither would I. You've got a good team, Pistoles. And that's rare. You are worth more than you realize. If it weren't for you and your partners, where would those hostages be? Where would Agent Williams and Longfellow be? If it weren't for you, where would your friends be? My point is that you've made a larger impact on those around you than you realize. No man is an island*; what one does affects many others. Some more than others. You are a valuable agent in this service, Panchito; and you are one of my closest friends. You are by no means, worthless."

The Colonel stepped back as Panchito rose from the chair. The rooster was staring down at the floor; thinking. But then he looked up and met Hawkins' gaze. For the first time in days; since his arrival back at Fort Cawford, Panchito's face lit up in a smile. Not the weak half-smiles he had been doling out before, but a real, genuine, Panchito Pistoles smile. "Well, Señor Hawkins, it seems I am far better off than I thought I was. I guess it's time I put this incident behind me." He gave a sheepish, grateful smile. "Thank you, Señor. Am...Am I still in the service?"

"It wouldn't be the service without you," Hawkins grinned. "I'll expect you and your boys back to work in two weeks. Rest up." He reached out a hand and Panchito gave it a warm shake.

"Sí, Señor." He started toward the door for the third time since he'd entered the room. There was a spring in his step; one that had been missing for the past week. He laid a hand on the brass knob, when he paused. "Colonel?"

"Yes?"

"The Vulture...He...he...Why didn't anyone ever tell me?"

Hawkins took on an expression of guilt once more. He lowered his gaze to the floor, his mind flashing images of that terrible day when he had lost a dear partner and friend. Instead of answering directly, the Colonel began to relate the incident. "We had just arrived in a small town west of Courtner Creek. Your father and I, as well as a couple of small town deputies, were chasing down a gang of bandits from the Southern territory. The town's streets were bare, there was only us. Suddenly, out of nowhere, we were ambushed. We lost one of the deputies, but the rest of us made it to cover. Your father and I exchanged fire with the unseen enemy for a good portion of an hour. Soon, we ran out of bullets. We lost the other deputy when the fellow tried to make a rush for an ammunition store across from us. Your father tried also, making it halfway across the road before Eloy Pérez stepped from the shadows. You father confronted him, using his brains to down the Vulture. But then, Quintero made a mistake. Thinking that he had won, your father turned his back." Hawkins winced at the memory, deciding to skip over the details. "He was beat up pretty bad. I tried to join the fight, but I was held back by some of the Vulture's men. When Quintero turned to help me...a gunshot rang out in the stillness...Your...your father was shot in the back, son. There was nothing I could do."

Panchito's eyes were moist as he took in his Colonel's anguish. He ran a sleeve over his eyes in an attempt to stay the tears. "How...How did you escape?"

Hawkins shook his head sadly. "The Vulture let me go. He said he wanted someone to survive to tell what he had done. To warn our agency that he was a threat to be dealt with...They threw me to the ground and left town; leaving me alone." The Colonel ran a tired hand over his face. "Your father was still alive when I knelt down beside him. I...I knew he wasn't going to make it; his wounds were too severe." The Colonel lowered his head. "Why didn't anyone tell you, Panchito? It was because your father wished it. Before he passed, there on the dusty street, he was still thinking of you and your mother. He told me to take care of the two of you. To make sure you became an agent, if you so chose. But he begged me not to tell you. He was afraid that, if you knew what had happened, you'd seek revenge on the Vulture. He didn't want you to meet the same fate he had. He didn't want you to know, because he loved you."

Panchito shivered slightly. "But now I know," he whispered softly."

"And how do you feel?"

"Exactly how my father feared I would. I want to hunt down the Vulture and bring him to justice." Panchito sighed. "But I wont do it out of revenge. I'll do it because that's what's right. Pérez is a murderer, a liar, and a thief. He _will_ be caught; and he will be judged for his crimes."

"That might be hard to accomplish for a while yet," Hawkins reported carefully. "He's gone into hiding. He may not show up again for quite some time."

Panchito nodded; his face full of determination. "I can wait."

"In the meantime," Hawkins pressed gently, "I believe your partners are waiting outside. They're worried enough as it is without making them wait longer. Go to them."

With a final smile, and a salute, Panchito finally left the office and headed outside. Hawkins shook his head with a small grin of his own. Turning, the Colonel got back to signing paperwork, his mind now a little more at rest. He knew Panchito was still hurting, but now the past had been faced. Once that had been done, Hawkins knew that the rooster would start to heal, emotionally and physically. It didn't mean that it would be easy; but it was a beginning. And that was all they could hope for.

...

Donald and José felt relief wash over them as Panchito made his way down the headquarters steps to join them. He seemed a little livelier; more like his old self than when they had left him. It was wonderful to see. That, and for the first time that past week, the rooster was smiling. Really smiling. He gave a chuckle at their surprise.

"Come, amigos!" he grinned, laying a hand on both their shoulders and leading them forward. "We have two weeks leave before it is back to work. We might as well make the best of it!" His smile suddenly dropped, and he pulled the other two to a halt alongside him. He wasn't looking them in the eye anymore, and his partners feared he was sinking back into his depressive state. "Donald...José...I got you into this whole mess. I...I wasn't as truthful about the dangers as I could have been. I...I am sorry." He hung his head. "If you...want to go back to the Navy Donald, I wouldn't blame you. And if you, José; if you wanted to return to Brazil, I would understand. You both have lives other than in the secret service. Please, don't feel you have to leave them for me."

Donald and José blinked at him, trying to understand what he was trying to say. They had all been through so much together. Did Panchito really think that they would just turn around and leave?

"Panchito," Donald began firmly, "It is my duty to serve my country; whether I am in the Navy or the Secret Service doesn't matter. But I also have a duty to my friends. One I am not likely to neglect. I'm staying."

José gave a laugh. "My life here will be no less perilous than my life back in Brazil. We seem to have a knack for trouble; we might as well put it to good use." He gave the rooster a fond smile. "I am staying too, parceiro*."

Panchito's eyes met theirs. "You...You are sure that is what you want?"

"Yes," the two answered in unison.

Together, the three agents made there way to the stables. They would ride to the nearest town to rest up for their two weeks off. But, even though Panchito was still a little sore, they all felt ready to take on their next mission. But that could wait. In the meantime, they would make sure Panchito took it easy and healed. And as the three rode off into the desert, riding atop Sénor Martinez's back, Panchito felt as if the world had regained its color; its beauty. His heart swelled with a warm joy; a feeling he had almost abandoned completely. This was his life. These were his friends. The past couldn't change him; nor what had made him who he had become; and neither could the future. He didn't know what would happen; what would come to pass. But he knew he wouldn't be facing it alone. Donald and José would be there. And, somehow, he knew that as long as they stayed by his side, everything would work out. They would always be alright. They would go on to be the greatest team the service had ever seen. Adventures would fall into their lives, one after another. Villains might try to defeat them, and they could try all they wanted; but no one would be able to tear their friendship apart. After all, they had been, and always would be...

The Three Caballeros.

**THE END**

**...**

***P****arceiro = Partner (Portuguese)**

***"No man is an island" = Part of the lyrics to a song called "N****o man is an island" by Tenth Avenue North. It talks about how our lives affect others, and I couldn't help using the phrase. :)**

**There it is! The story is finished! Whoo hoo! I hope that you all enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. :)**

**Now, as I mentioned at the beginning of this story, I planned to make this a series. Each story being almost like an episode of the Three Caballeros, this one being the first. But, of course, I would only want to do so if I thought anyone would be interested. It's a lot of work pumping them out and it would be quite an undertaking. But, if it means a lot to someone, I am more than willing to give it a go! :D**

**So, let me know if you would like me to make this a series or not. :) I always value my readers' opinions. :) THANKS AGAIN AND GOD BLESS! :)**


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